


Light My Fire

by Dracoravebird



Category: Osmosis Jones (2001)
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Sexual Content, I don't care if it's a kid's movie, Medical Inaccuracies, Mild Gore, Multi, Romance, Sex, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-01-15 16:25:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12324627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracoravebird/pseuds/Dracoravebird
Summary: Antibody: noun -- a blood protein produced in response to and counteracting a specific antigen. Antibodies combine chemically with substances that the body recognizes as alien, such as bacteria, viruses, and foreign substances in the bloodWhat happens when a killer gets stripped of what used to make him lethal? Throw a stressed cop, a mayor's aide, and a strung-out courier into the mix, and things in the City of Hector are about to get a lot more interesting![This is meant to be an AU in a biology-based world outside the human body--Does that even make sense?--but can be interpreted as mostly canon if the reader chooses.]





	1. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My OC is a male version of (https://dracoravebird.deviantart.com/art/Caff-708098838)

Living on the lower east side, near the city’s Stomach, around the docks and processing plants, Caff honestly expected to see some shit when he was going to and from work. What he did not expect to see was a figure lying unconscious in an alleyway. Caff brought his motorcycle to a halt, and glanced around. It was late. Most of the city was dark and asleep. The little side-street was abandoned, for now.

“Um… Bro? You okay?”

No answer came. Not even a twitch. Caff chewed his lower lip, the cell again peering about before his gaze settled on the figure. He could see plasma glinting on the ground, enough to make a sizable puddle.

Slowly, Caff propped his bike on the kickstand and dismounted, his steps quiet and careful. When he drew close enough to see, he gasped, one hand rising to cover his mouth.

It was a virus. Red ochre skin and mauve dreads. Pronounced claws Reddish plasma was oozing out of claw wounds, shallow but messy. His turtleneck thermal had been ripped up rather badly, as had his coat, leaving the pale blue scar on his chest plain to see. An antibody, then. No wonder no one had bothered to help him. And Caff doubted he would make it to a hospital.

Caff glanced at his motorcycle. It would have to do.

The antibody groaned thickly as the waifish cell hefted him up, but was still out like a light when Caff draped him across his back and dragged him.

Getting back to his apartment building was a mission, but they were not noticed, and Caff was able to wrap his arms round the antibody’s torso beneath his arms, get the guy into the elevator, and up to his apartment without much issue. Granted, by the time he had the stranger sprawled on his bed, the cell was exhausted and his limbs felt like jelly. The antibody was tall, and pretty heavy. Certainly heavier than Caff had been prepared for.

The cell panted softly as he rushed into his bathroom, rummaging around and finding his first-aid kit. It was a cell-kit, however. He cursed under his breath, rushing out of the apartment and down the hall to the maintenance closet.

Leaving his would-be guest unattended proved it was not the smartest decision Caff had ever made.

It felt like the room was tilting violently. Almost enough to make Thrax sick. Right as he started to come around, he remembered… the fight. Jones had t-boned him as he tried making up uptown. A fight on the rafters at a saliva plant. A violent shudder ran through his form, settling as an uncomfortable ache in his chest as he recalled. Jones had pulled his gun. His finger had been kept off the trigger, but in the scuffle that followed, it had gone off. He fell. Right off the scaffolds and into the churning waterfront.

Sulfurous green eyes snapped open. He was in a room he did not recognize. A bedroom, on a bed just barely big enough for him. No lights were on. What the fuck was glowing?

Thrax’s gaze jolted down towards his chest. He sat up in an instant. The shock of what he saw was enough to keep the nausea at bay. Looking to the side, he saw it. A bathroom. His body was in motion before his mind could catch up. As he stood in front of the mirror, he jerked open what remained of his shirt. The sound of ripping material echoed around him in the small space. When he saw the glowing blue scar, his claws left furrows in the sink.

In the hall, the closet was locked, as usual. But Caff was desperate enough to risk breaking into it. Glancing around, he pulled his keychain out, finding the skeleton key and jabbing it into the keyhole. There was a loud clack, followed by the door gaping open. Caff was only in long enough to pull the antibody first-aid kit off the wall and rush back to his apartment, the door snapping closed behind him. But something was off. The bed was empty, plasma stains left behind.

He jogged over, only to yelp as he was grabbed by the throat and pinned to the lumpy old futon.

Thrax could feel the cell’s pulse spike under his hand, talon poised over the cell’s face. However… It refused to respond, not heating up or glowing. The most he could do was make the cell bleed to death. Beneath him, Caff whimpered softly, watching the antibody glare at and examine his free hand.

“I-I brought a first-aid kit.” He supplied carefully.

Those acidic green eyes snapped down to him. “What city is this?”

“Hector. Downtown, east side.” Caff informed him, eyes crossing slightly as he watched that talon hover over his face.

Thrax’s vision swam, the former virus bracing his hands on the mattress as fresh plasma dribbled from his wounds.

“Erm… I’m gonna roll us so you’re laying down. Here.” Gently, and wary of the antibody’s talons, he tugged at the taller’s coat.

He glowered down at the blurred image of the cell’s face.

“Look, you’re gonna bleed to death. Just c’mere.”

“What’s to stop me from killin you, baby?” Thrax grit out through his teeth, trying and failing to hide the tremble his arms gave.

“The fact I chose not to let you die in an alleyway…?” Caff suggested, a bit of sass in his tone as he pouted impudently up at him.

While he continued leering at Caff, the antibody slowly lowered himself down, lying on the cell. A thick, low groan welled in his throat as the slighter rolled them, the action causing the pain of his injuries to flare back to life. Thrax continued glaring at the cell as he went for the kit he had dropped, popping it open. A hiss whistled through the antibody’s crooked, yellowish teeth when cauterizing gel was sprayed over the wound, followed by the excess gel and plasma being mopped up with some gauze. 

“Well shit…” Caff frowned. “This rip here in your side’ll need stitches.”

Thrax rested the point of his talon under the cell’s chin. “You can do that.”

“Lucky for you.” He pushed it aside warily, ducking into the bathroom long enough to retrieve a sewing kit that had a curved needle in it.

Wary eyes watched Caff as he threaded the needle and dabbed at the jagged wound with some adrenaline, numbing the area. The area was then wiped with antiseptic, as was the needle and thread.

“Try to hold still.”

The antibody did not deign to dignify the statement with a reply.

“What did you fight?”

“Do yourself a favor, baby…” Thrax glared sharply at him. “Stitch me, and shut up.”

The cell pursed his lips, but did as directed, falling uncomfortably silent.

Thrax’s mind was going a hundred miles an hour. Antibody. He may as well be dead. No longer infectious. No longer contagious. The most he could do with his claws was stab or cut someone. Something it was not originally meant for. He found himself grinding his teeth, glaring bitterly at his chest with a sneer stuck on his face. The cell occasionally glanced at him, but said nothing. His much smaller, slender form was hunched and tense, as if he were ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.

To his credit, the cell made it about halfway through the process before he started to fidget, pausing to take a deep breath and bounce a knee.

“This isn’t a good time to pass out, baby.” Thrax warned, voice cool and even.

“I’m not gettin faint.” He huffed, flexing his hands a moment. “It’s just… hard for me to sit still for long periods.”

His eyes remained trained on the cell, watching him stand and pace slowly, flexing his slim hands. After a moment or two, he returned to his seat and continued stitching.

“Feeling any better?” The cell questioned dryly.

“No.”

He frowned.

It gave Thrax pause, and slowly, he drew his talon away from the kid’s face and rested his arm beside his head. This cell could be useful, information-wise. Right now, he could not afford to pass up the opportunity. He could always kill the cell, later.

“What’s your name?”

The question made him halt briefly, eyes wide when he looked up at the antibody. “Um… Caff. My name’s Caff. You are…?”

He hesitated, but only briefly. “Thrax.”

“Well… Nice to meet you, I guess.” It did not take long for Caff to finish stitching, tying off and snipping the thread. “Alright… I need you to sit up so I can brace your side with some bandages.”

Despite the protests of aching joints and strained muscles, Thrax pushed himself up. Caff hesitated for a few seconds before pushing the antibody’s coat and ruined shirt off. While he felt the flush that crept across his cheeks, he ignored it, and forced himself to ignore the larger’s chiseled physique. Instead, he kept his eyes on his own hands, focusing on his task and not invoking the antibody’s wrath. Once that was done, he went to his dresser, rummaging around.

Caff returned to the antibody, offering him the old T-shirt. “Um… I use it as a nightshirt. But I think it’ll fit you.”

Thrax arched a brow at the cell, his expression dry and unimpressed.

“I’ll just…” He set the shirt on the edge of the bed. “I’ll just go get something to drink. You…?”

The antibody narrowed his eyes.

That was all the answer Caff needed, the cell turning and briskly leaving the room.

His gaze fell to the shirt. It was old and faded, rather plain in appearance. With a sneer, Thrax pulled it on. How the cell wore this thing was beyond him. If it was baggy on his form, he knew it probably looked like a dress when Caff wore it.

A snap. The snap of a door. Grabbing his coat, Thrax marched out of the bedroom, into the woefully small apartment. There was no sign of the cell, besides a half-finished can of caffeine-free glucose. Droplets of plasma made a trail from the room, to the fridge, to the counter, and out the door.

“You little shit…”

\---------

Air. He just needed some fresh air. Away from that creep.

Caff shuddered. That was what he got for trying to be nice. Death threats and a maniac who apparently did not like the idea of not being a virus. Fresh out of the change, then. A drifter from another city. No wonder he had made an easy target for some unsavory character or another.

In the distance, Caff heard the snap of the apartment building’s back door. Breath fogging on the cool air, he turned and ran.

An arm clotheslined him. The cell gagged and coughed. Strong hands grabbed him, jerking him into the darkness. One covered his mouth. He could not scream, but they were not taking chances. Caff’s pulse was in his throat. His tired limbs offered little resistance.

It was sudden.

Arms held his own behind back. Punch to his stomach. Caff grunted, gritting his teeth. He kicked one in the face. Sent him falling into a dumpster. The cell was thrown into the wall. Then the ground. He dodged the first kick. Rolled to the side. One grabbed his ankle. The other stomped his head. Ears ringing. Vision blurred. More kicks. Caff reached up. Punched one between the legs. Got up. Ran. Gunshot. Gunshot. Gunshot. Pain.

Screams. More gunfire. Splattering.

A tall figure stood over him.

Darkness.

A frown etched itself into Thrax’s features. The skinny cell had put up a decent fight. Pale plasma dribbled thickly from the hole in his shoulder. No exit-wound.

He glanced at the bodies around himself. A nagging feeling tugged at him. A sticky, unfamiliar sensation in the pit of his chest. When he turned to walk away, it grew stronger, the throb of it enough to make him wince in discomfort. Thrax’s gaze whipped back to the cell. Caff was out cold, and if that wound went untended…

It would tie up loose ends, for one. But again, the cell had proven useful. And he could provide information. He could die, later.

Shoulders slumping in defeat, the antibody scooped the cell up, surprised by how little he weighed. All he had to do was follow the trail of blood back to the apartment.


	2. Buffer Zone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffer Zone: noun -- a neutral area serving to separate hostile forces or nations
> 
> [Sorry if this chapter's confusing. Lots of dialogue.]

A drop of moisture rolling down Caff’s brow and seeping into his eye woke the cell. Cracking his eye, he saw it was a cold-pack resting on his forehead. Then, the pain hit him. He snapped his eyes closed and moaned weakly. The dull throbbing through his head was worse than any hangover he had the displeasure of having. It sucked.

“Awake at last, baby?”

That voice… Caff opened his eyes a fraction, only for them to widen dramatically when he saw the antibody seated at the end of his sofa, the cell’s feet resting in his lap, sneakers off. Thrax was watching him expectantly, one arm on the back of the sofa, and the other hand resting on the cell’s ankles, by the hem of his mismatched socks.

“I wish I wasn’t.” Caff muttered under his breath.

The cell dragged himself backwards to sit up, pulling his legs up against his body and ignoring the cold-pack that fell to the floor with a splat. Thrax cast him a predatory smirk, leering at him with an odd sort of mirth in his greenish gaze.

“Now, is that any way to thank me, baby? I just saved your ass, after all.” Thrax chided, crossing his legs.

“Are… Are you kidding me?” Caff swallowed the sudden wave of nausea, throat and mouth dry. “You threatened to kill me. Several times, actually. While I was trying to save YOUR life. Why the hell should I thank you?”

To his surprise, no answer came, and instead of threatening him, the antibody’s expression was blank. Aloof. Perhaps faintly curious, if he was to be generous.

A heavy sigh left him. “Maybe I’ll thank you if you could be so kind as to get me something to drink? You can help yourself, while you’re at it.”

“Well, since you offered…” That smirk returned, the antibody standing and shrugging off his coat.

The inky material was draped over the back of the old sofa, Caff watching him carefully. As if his friends did not make him feel short enough. His head only reached Thrax’s chest for fuck’s sake. It was enough to make the mutated cell look like a runt. Sculpted. Built damn fine—With an uncomfortable blush, or what he told himself was discomfort, Caff scooped up the cold pack and plopped it down on the coffee table. Well, tossed it. It had been scooted away to give his guest some leg-room.

After a few brief clatters of someone rummaging through the fridge, Thrax returned and handed him a bottle of ElectroLite. He returned to the other side of the couch, now sitting with his legs splayed, one arm again on the back of the couch. The other hand held a can of chilled carbaccino. Figures. Of course he would take the good stuff. The TV was on. Some kind of weapons showcase infomercial, or something. Thrax did not seem to be paying attention to it, brooding about something.

“So. Care to fill me in, baby?”

“Fill you in on what?” Caff questioned, pausing long enough to take a swig of his heath-drink. “I’m not exactly an expert on antibodies.”

“I meant who was trying to kill you, wiseass.” Thrax drawled with a roll of his eyes.

“Just some guys I owe money to.” He pouted, gaze drifting off to the side. “Nothing new.”

There it was again. That sticky, nagging, throbbing sensation deep in his chest, like it was beneath that dimly-glowing blue scar, and under his skin. Thrax grit his teeth, forcing himself not to wince at the sensation.

“I doubt you owe eight different guys money, baby.” He pressed, and took a drink. It was cold – not really pleasant by his standards – but at least it tasted good and would give him a boost.

“I owe their boss money, then.” Caff huffed with a sour look. “Why? You gonna march your happy ass up to Jonas Mono’s office and tell him off? Be my guest, stretch. Good luck.”

Thrax snickered, briefly, before going serious again. His eyes trailed to his talon, a frown crossing his face.

Something akin to pity welled up in the cell, whom sighed. “Look. If you need a place to crash… I dunno what kind of legal issues you have or anything. But if you—”

Knocking. 

Both of them glanced to the door. Just as Thrax was about to get up, Caff motioned for him to stay put, hopping up from his seat. The cell had to stand up on tiptoes to see through the peephole, but a sigh of relief made his narrow shoulders sag, and he unlocked it, the door snapping open.

“Guys… You didn’t have to come over. I have a phone.”

“Yeah, and you haven’t been answering it.”

That voice. Thrax stood soundlessly, watching as Caff backed up to let the immunity cell and his pill partner inside. A glance turned into a second-take. The immunity cell let out a surprised cry and drew his gun. The pill readied his arm with a freezing-capsul. Thrax flexed his claws restlessly, eyes narrowing.

“What the fuck?!” Caff moved between them, standing both in line of sight and striking distance.

“Caff, move!”

Thrax sneered. “Jones.”

“Get down on your knees and put your hands behind your head, Thrax!”

The antibody had half a mind to grab Caff and hold his claws to his throat, but that lingering sensation stilled his hand.

“Jones, dafuq is wrong with you!” Caff demanded. “Put the gun down!”

“You don’t know what he’s capable of!”

“Yeah, I do! He saved my fuckin life, last night!”

Jones’ eyes widened slightly, flicking to Thrax’s form. The taller stood with grim expectation. After a moment, Drix lowered his arm and cleared his throat.

“Jones, I don’t think he’s infectious.” Drix supplied quietly.

Thrax took a step closer. “I don’t need to be infectious to kill you, baby.”

With clear reluctance, Jones lowered his pistol. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“You tell me.”

Brows furrowing, he looked to the smaller cell.

Caff rolled his eyes. “I found him unconscious in an alley, helped him out, took a walk outside, and he came and saved my ass from Mono’s goons.”

The immunity cell gave an exasperated groan, dragging a hand down his face before he holstered his pistol. “That explains a few things.”

He glanced between the pair. “How do you two know one another?”

“How do you think? He tried to kill the city of Frank!”

The look Thrax gave him was one of bitter disdain, one hand rising to tug the collar of the shirt down. “It’s not like you have to worry about a repeat of history.”

“Great. Because this city needs you of all people as an antibody.”

Biting his lower lip, Caff rubbed his temples. He already had a headache. This was NOT helping in the slightest. With a particularly loud scoff, he snatched up the can of carbaccino from the coffee table guzzling the rest of it and tossing the can into the trash bin. The trio stared at him in mixed surprise, watching him stride into the kitchen seat himself on one of two barstools at the counter.

“By all means! Continue! Not like my headache could get much worse.” He sniped, too irritable to care for just whatever was taking place.

The childish gesture made Thrax roll his eyes, the antibody grabbing the abandoned cold-pack and tossing it to the smaller cell. Caff caught it one-handedly, pressing it to his forehead.

“Ozzy, you realize that as an antibody, no charges can be filed against him.” Drix reminded his partner.

“Unfortunately.” Jones folded his arms. “I’d still like to know why he’s here.”

“Apologies. My memory’s a little rusty,” Thrax gestured to his chest, “if you catch my drift.”

“Both of you calm down, please.” Drix’s voice became a bit more stern, showing his own mounting agitation. “Ozzy, most antibodies suffer memory lapses and temporary amnesia during the process of changing. He probably has no idea how long it’s been.”

“Then maybe you should enlighten me, tinman.”

“Three weeks.” Jones quipped. “Going on four. And amnesia doesn’t explain how you got to Hector.”

“Then call it a strong survival instinct.” Thrax feigned a smile, resting his thumbs in his belt-loops.

“Whatever. I want you out of this apartment and away from Caff.”

Both the antibody and smaller cell questioned it. “Why?”

“Because word gets around! When Mono finds out that his guys were sliced and diced by a former virus who’s bunkin with a cell who owes him 5k, you’re putting a huge target on his back.”

“And me leaving him here by his lonesome will magically make the target go away?” Thrax drawled with a wave of his hand. “It’s a wonder you didn’t make ace detective ages ago.”

“You’re aware I carry a gun.”

Finally, Caff had enough. “SHUT UP!”

The room fell deathly still, save for the television. The trio stared at him with wide eyes and arched brows.

He sighed, and pointed to Thrax. “We’re even. But if you’d like to stay here, I can help you acclimate and you can watch my back.”

The antibody sneered at the idea, but seeing he had few other options, muttered a cross “Fine.” under his breath and gazed off to the side, jaw and shoulders tense.

“Ozzy, feel free to check up on me all you want. Drix, try not to let him kill my new roommate.”

“I can’t make any guarantees, it seems.” Drix mused, giving his partner a cautious glance.

Beside the pill, the immunity cell was too close to seething to answer. He gruffly muttered an “I’ll text you later,” and left the apartment, followed by his partner, whom gave an apologetic wave. A slam echoed through the apartment when the door closed, and for a few blissfull moments, there was silence. Just silence. Caff closed his eyes, pillowing his chin on his folded arms. Footfalls approached him, a clawed hand resting on his back.

When he cracked an eye and looked up, he saw a blank expression, though he supposed the antibody could have been vaguely concerned.

“M’ fine.” Caff mumbled.

“You owe this creep 5k?” Thrax’s voice was fairly quiet, compared to before.

“$5, 237 to be exact. Yeah.”

“How the fuck does that work?”

“I crashed my motorcycle into a shipment of illicit goods and it exploded.” He laughed bitterly. “Don’t tell me you suddenly care.”

“You’ve been helpful so far.” The antibody admitted. “Get me up-to-date with this city, and I’ll help you out. Fair?”

The cell stared up at him, surprise clear on his features. In the end, however, he nodded. What did he have to lose?


	3. Needed Intel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being an antibody is like being a genie! There're a few strings attached.

After everything he had been through, Caff had no issues with making his new roomy stay on the sofa. He was irritable, and the headache was only just now going away. Good. He could not afford a trip to the hospital.

His alarm went off. Groaning, Caff slapped at the nightstand, eventually finding it and switching it off. He did NOT want to go into work today. Mono was going to be all over him, and honestly, he doubted whether or not the antibody could single-handedly take out an army. If anything, while he was getting himself killed, it would give Caff a chance to get away.

He changed quickly, pulling a T-shirt on as he shuffled into the kitchen. Unsurprisingly, Thrax was already awake, and looked rather unimpressed. The cell’s hair was a mess and there were dark rings beneath his eyes. Rested was the exact opposite of how he looked.

“I have just enough cash to get breakfast, and maybe get you some things to wear since you don’t have anything. There should be a thrift store—”

“Thrift store?” Thrax drawled, arching a brow as if insulted.

“Yeah. A thrift store. Because in case you didn’t notice, I have no money. You take what you can get.” Caff sneered at him, grabbing his sneakers and pulling them on, zipping them up the sides. “Or, by all means, go get a job. Fucker.”

“Ouch. Not much of a morning person, baby?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Thrax cast the cell a smirk, somewhat impressed. Caff snatched his hoody off the back of the couch, pulling it on, followed by grabbing his beany from the pocket and donning it. 

“Let’s go, stretch.”

He rolled his eyes at the nickname, but followed him, the pair making their way downstairs and outside. It would seem the downtown east side was the ghetto. Laundry was strung up between alleyways, and people were almost always looking over their shoulders. Caff did not remember the issue of transportation until they came to where his motorcycle was parked out front. It was a small one, meant for someone of his stature. No room for his new companion.

Thrax leered at it, about to comment, until Caff’s gaze fell from his face down to his claw.

“Um… Does it always do that?”

He gazed down, but his hope shifted to irritation. It was not blazing with heat or glowing orange. Rather, the very tip of his claw glowed a dim, dull blue. The same shade and hue as the scar on his chest.

Without thinking, he stepped closer and plunged the end of his claw down into the ignition. Caff cursed, stumbling backwards, hands coming up to rest on his head. However, where he thought his relatively new motorcycle had been killed, he watched as it warped. Its frame shifted, lengthening with a groan and flushing out. A pair of oversized wheels, black paintjob with softly glowing blue accents, like something out of a sci-fi movie.

“What the fuck?” Caff timidly moved closer, peering down at the vehicle. “How did you...?”

“Something I can apparently still do.” Thrax got on and nodded to the space behind him. “Get on, baby.”

“Great. I’m riding bitch with a psychopath.” Despite his complaint, he did so, glad for the handles on either side of his seat. At least he would not have to hug the antibody.

\---------

A few t-shirts and a couple pairs of pants. Honestly speaking, Caff was surprised they managed to find anything Thrax’s size, and was glad the back seat had a small compartment under it. Afterwards, he had enough cash to get to a small carb-stand selling bagels and hot coffee. The pair were eating where they stood by the curb and their ride.

“So, what’s the skinny on this town?” Thrax questioned, sipping at his coffee.

“Hector? Big city. I’ve lived here most of my life. Had to leave Beth after a… misunderstanding.” Caff supplied between bites of bagel. “Our mayor leaves something to be desired.”

“Yeah?”

“Some jaggoff named Jason Spryman’s the mayor. Has an obnoxious teenaged brat named Paul who seems to think the mayoral office is inherited. The kid’s a dumbass.”

“Okay. So, who really runs the show?” Thrax drawled, people-watching.

“Well, there’s Jonas Mono.” Caff sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Has a toe in every pond, as it were. His gang’s the biggest. And the dumbest. But they’re loyal.

“Then, there’s Madame Enza. Antibody. But dangerous. Caters to the local germs. Runs a lot of nightclubs. Can usually be found in the Pathogenia Lounge, east side. Then, you have Ernst Strepfinger. Some bigshot germ that owns a casino and thinks he’s hot stuff. Honestly, most of his power comes from two things. Cash, and brainless lackeys.

“There’s Shane, who runs a gang of tweakers. They traffic illegal hormones. Took control of the brain, once. Held the mayor’s kid hostage. They’re disorganized as fuck, but they have numbers. After that, we have a resident terrorist group, headed by some fucker named Nick O’Teen. Anarchist.

“Last but not least, the only other organized crime group besides Mono’s. Vinny Pharyn. Has his hands in the government. Occasionally fudges the rules to get his way. Makes people pony up for protection. Occasional outbreaks, nothing serious.”

Thrax hummed in his throat, considering the players on the metaphorical board.

Quietly, Caff glanced his way. “Enza would like you. She has that sort of taste in men.”

“The taste being?”

“Assholes.”

The antibody frowned, giving him an exasperated look. “You’re not still mad, are you?”

“Dunno. You tell me. Almost half this damn city wants me dead by now, I’m sure.”

He paused. “How long has she been an antibody?”

“A while. People say she’s been here since not long after the city was founded.” Caff supplied, and then arched a brow at him. “Why?”

“I need to talk to her.”

There was a brief few seconds of silence before the cell cackled at him. “Yeah! Sure! Have fun trying to get past the bouncer. In the meantime, it’s almost time for me to clock in. We should get moving.”

\---------

Boring did not begin to describe just what Thrax thought of Caff’s job. They spent most of the day delivering small packages and letters. Twelve deliveries at the end of the day turned out just over a hundred and sixty bucks. The pair did not talk much, still feeling one another out, and Thrax still getting a beat on the city. Takeout for supper, and then the end of their first official day as roommates.

Apparently, Caff was the sort of cell to go to bed and get up early. And, he was a heavy sleeper. Thrax was easily able to sneak out of the apartment. He doubted Mono and his men would make a move anytime soon, and no one had seemed to recognize him. No suspicious glances, no one casing the apartment building… Caff would be fine by himself. At least for tonight.

The Pathogenia Lounge was an easy place to find. Big neon signs of green and blue with two bouncers and a line out the doors. Thrax straightened his coat, sparing a glance to the night sky to gage the time before turning and striding up to the doors, surpassing the line. Of course, the bouncer not tending the line stepped in his way.

“I don’t know you, red. And that means you ain’t on the VIP list.” The bouncer pointed to the line.

“I need to speak to your boss.” Thrax drawled plainly, expression mostly aloof but mildly annoyed. 

“Heh. Yeah. Sure. If Miss Enza wanted to see YOU, you’d know by now.”

“I suggest you get out of my way, baby.” 

“Try it, pal.” The bouncer sneered. “See what happens.”

As Thrax opened his mouth to retort, the bouncer’s phone rang. The big palooka answered it, but the conversation was short, an uneasy expression crossing his ugly mug when he slid his phone back into his pocket.

“Uh… Miss Enza wants to see you.” He stepped aside, nodding at the door. “Her private boot’s upstairs. Can’t miss it.”

Leering at him, Thrax bumped the bouncer’s shoulder as he passed, stepping inside.

The place looked low-key. The music consisted of piano and a woman singing. The décor was… eclectic, but it largely resembled a speakeasy. Bar, seating, smoking, booze, and mingling. Towards the back, the main floor was framed by a pair of twin staircases. As the bouncer had said, the private booth was impossible to miss, taking up the space between these staircases so the woman in question could overlook her empire, sectioned off by what was likely bulletproof glass.

No one paid him much mind as he wove his way through the numerous patrons, an even mixture of germs and antibodies with a smattering of cells that did not mind rough company. The guard at the stairs let him go through without a second glance, watching the night crowd for any signs of danger to his employer.

Miss Enza was not what Thrax may have expected. He had seen all kinds of germs, but not one that looked so much like a cell. Green skin, solid blue eyes, hair pulled back into a bun with a pair of chopsticks, showing off a pair of large hoop earrings. Little black dress, fishnet stockings, red stilettoes, and a length of plush pelt looped about her elbows. It was obvious she was well-off.

Her keen eyes observed him as she took a drag on a long cigarette holder. “Well, now… Mister Big, Bad, and Handsome himself. My boys didn’t give you a hard time, now, did they?”

“No.” Thrax said simply, trying to get a decent read of her.

Enza chuckled, gesturing to the vacant sofa across from the one she occupied. “Have a seat, honey. You want a drink?”

“I just want some answers.” He stepped over to the sofa and settled down into the surprisingly soft cushions.

“Hm. All work and no play, then? Typical, but it suits you.” She took another drag and flicked the ashes off into the tray on the coffee table between them. “I assume you wanna know a little somethin’ somethin’ about your new situation?”

“That’s why I’m here, baby.” Thrax supplied, crossing his legs and resting his arms along the back of the sofa.

“Mm. You may have noticed a little nagging feeling? Like someone reachin round in your chest and grabbin things?”

He frowned darkly, giving her a look that could only be described as rebuttal, or denial.

“I thought so. That feelin? You’ll get it a lot. Antibodies… we’ve got this instinct. The urge to protect. Could be one person, a whole group, or a whole city. But it’s there.”

“When does it go away?” Thrax’s voice was low, almost lost in the music from one floor below.

Enza chuckled, shaking her head. “It doesn’t.”

The news made him bristle.

“You’ll get used to it, after a while, honey. You’ll figure out what it wants, and how to cope. It’ll get better. As natural as breathin, or sleepin.” Another drag on her cigarette.

“And if I don’t do what it wants?”

The question gave her pause. She uncrossed her legs and recrossed them the other way, gathering her thoughts. “You’ll die.”

“Excuse me?” The answer made his brows arch upwards, incredulous.

“It’ll be slow. Mostly a mental issue. You’ll stop sleeping. Lose your appetite. Your mind’ll start playin tricks on you. Paranoia. Hallucinations. Eventually, you’ll flip your shit and find an interesting way to kill yourself, accidental or otherwise.”

The news sank in slowly, like a bitter medicine someone could not take a drink after.

“Doesn’t matter how long you manage to cling to your sanity, honey. I ain’t never seen someone survive that. And I’ve been alive for a long, LONG time.”

Thrax slumped slightly into his seat, grinding his teeth, his gaze turning to the side and absently focusing on the wall.

“Oh. So… a specific person, then.” Enza mused.

His gaze snapped back to her in an instant.

“Anyone I know, honey?”

There was a moment when he wanted to just get up and walk off. But he needed more information. Who was he to just walk off when someone was giving it to him for free, no strings attached. Caff had spoke almost fondly of her, and from the sound of it, had met her or knew her. Perhaps that was a good thing.

“A cell. Mutated leukocyte named Caff. Ring any bells?” Thrax supplied.

“Yeah. I know him. Poor kid, in over his head.” Enza snickered with a nod, and gave him an intrigued look. “That’d make you the one who sliced up Mono’s boys.”

“And if I am?”

“Don’t worry. Mono and I, well… Let’s just say we have a mutual understanding. It ain’t any of my business, honey.”

He scoffed.

Enza smirked, taking another puff of her smoke. “I trust you can see yourself out, honey. It’s been fun. But you ain’t my type, and I’m expectin company.”

\---------

When Thrax returned, it was around midnight. The apartment was still in order, and when he stepped in near perfect silence up to the bedroom door, he saw Caff was still asleep, hunkered down under a couple blankets with enough pillows that the bed looked like a nest, his mohawk a mess and scattered both ways instead of swept to one side as he seemed to prefer.

His eyes narrowed as he considered Miss Enza’s words. He did not like to believe his life now depended on keeping this little punk alive. Did not WANT to believe it. But the fact remained. This was not something he could roll the dice on and hope for the best. This was a case where he needed to wait, play his cards right, and see where it led.

It was like a rope, stringing him along. Thrax did not like authority or rules on the best of days. Now, he had to deal with… with THIS.

Briefly, it occurred to him that he could put an end to his misery right here, right now. Take the cash. Wreck the place. Take the bike. It would be easy. Just a quick stab in the right place—Thrax bit back a groan at a particularly hard clench in his chest, an almost physical sensation. Thankfully, no sound escaped him.

He glowered down at his chest. The scar was glowing dimly but visibly beneath his shirt.

It was a bad idea, anyways. Jones would immediately know just what had happened and who had done it.

Things just got a bit more complicated.

\---------


	4. A Night In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the show, Dander is still called a dog. That, and I’m too lazy to change all the names like I did the first few chapters. So there’s Chinese food. Deal with it. XD

Caff could not place just what had changed, but as if just overnight, something HAD changed. And not knowing what it was just made him more uneasy, despite the fact that it was clear Thrax was watching his back. Some familiar faces in the streets were giving him space, but he knew it was because a little bird was getting around about what had happened to Mono’s men.

That was another thing that bothered him. If lowlifes out on the streets knew, then Mono himself DEFINITELY knew.

“I’m not sayin that we need to hit the road,” Caff explained as they entered his apartment, his arms occupied by a sizable bag of takeout, “but we should lay low for a while.”

“The second you start hiding is the second they actually start looking, baby.” Thrax informed him, unimpressed with the plan.

“Well excuse me, oh wise one.”

“Let’s face it. Your mouth doesn’t do your self-preservation any favors.”

“Then maybe one of you asshats should get it over with.”

The statement struck Thrax as odd, and escaped Caff before he could help it – such was often the case considering his lack of a verbal filter. He could feel the antibody’s eyes on him, but ignored it as he laid out their food on the counter, and took one of the two stools, putting it across from his seat. They were given plastic forks as well as chopsticks, which was good. Caff could not picture someone with claws like Thrax’s using a pair of chopsticks, as comical as that would be to see.

Thrax shrugged off his coat, tossing it onto the back of the sofa before seating himself across from the cell. For his part, Caff busied himself with setting their food out and separating their orders. He had gotten an order of duck, half-and-half – half the order was Peking duck, the other half was tea-smoked – with soup dumplings and sticky fried rice. His roommate had opted for sesame chicken, veggie lo mein, and egg drop soup. The food was still hot, to the point of the cell cursing softly under his breath as he set things out and tried not to burn his fingers.

“You’re getting better at not getting lost.” Caff noted absently, pulling open his containers of food and grabbing a pair of chopsticks.

“A compliment? You sick or somethin?” Thrax scoffed in a quiet tone.

“I was tryin to be nice. Dickbag.”

“Why?” He opened his own food containers and grabbed the plastic silverware, easily ripping the bag with his claws.

Caff shrugged. “We’re rooming together. May as well be civil while it lasts.”

“You scared I’m gonna run off and leave you to your fate, baby?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I just felt like being nice.” His tone dropped, becoming almost resigned. “Does it matter?”

Before he could answer, the cell’s phone rang. 

Caff answered it without thought. “Yo. … What? … Ozzy, slow down. I can’t understand you. … What? No! He’s been here with me all day! … Dude, we’re at my apartment about to eat some Chinese takeout. … No. … No, I—”

Thrax could hear the officer babbling on the other end, though the words were indistinct. Having apparently had enough, Caff rolled his eyes and hung up before tossing his phone aside.

“Fucking calm down and call me back.” Caff sighed, rubbing his brow. “I hate having to repeat myself.”

“I assume it was about me, then.” Thrax noted.

“Yeah. Somethin about a messy crime scene over on the north side, up by the cardio district. Some red blood cells. Apparently, it was bad. I’ve never heard him freak out like that before.”

A low, wry chuckle welled in the virus’ throat.

“I… I guess you have, then.” His gaze turned down towards his food, poking at it. “None of my business. I don’t need to know.”

“Let’s just say Jones is a nervous wreck because the last city didn’t believe him.”

Caff glanced up at him, but there was not a look a fear, as one would expect. Infectious or no, Thrax could still kill things with relative ease. Why the cell was so at ease with him, one could only guess. Either he knew the limitations of antibodies, was confident in Jones as a friend, or… he was simply past being afraid to die.

\---------

At first, Caff thought it was TV volume that woke him up. Only after a moment or two did he realize it may have been something else. Pushing his hair out of his face, he managed to kick the blankets off where they were tangled around his legs. Quiet steps carried him through the living room, where his newfound roommate was asleep on the couch.

If the term “asleep” was applied loosely. The antibody had knocked the lamp off the end table beside him. While not muttering or screaming, Caff could see he was tensed, ready to strike. Bad dream, whatever it may be. Slowly moving closer, keeping the back of the sofa between them, the cell poked Thrax’s shoulder.

The reaction was instant and explosive. Caff yelped as the antibody lunged for him, tipping the sofa onto its back and pinning the cell to the floor, one hand round a slender throat and his claw poised over Caff’s chest. For a moment, Caff forgot how to breath, hands trembling as he held his hands in front of himself, eyes wide.

Silence consumed the entire apartment, Thrax staring down at him and breathing hard for several seconds before he straightened and pushed his dreads out of his face. The cell did his best to ignore the fact the antibody was kneeling between his legs. Trying to think of anything but that. Such as the very real fear and danger he had just been through that had his pulse pounding hard enough to make him dizzy. Thrax stood, straightening his shirt and pacing slowly from side-to-side, forcing his breaths to calm.

“Don’t do that again.” Thrax muttered, voice a low hiss as he leered at the cell.

Caff slowly scooted back, and felt his shoulders hit the lower portion of the counter.

After some tense seconds, his expression turned from irritated to aloof, acidic green eyes watching him carefully. “You alright?”

“Y-Yeah. I’m good. I’m just… gonna go back to bed.” He managed to get to his feet, backing away a few steps and turning around, ducking back into his room.

He did not want to know what the antibody was dreaming about before, but some distant part of him hoped the antibody was doing better than the façade would hint.

\---------

“You okay? You haven’t been saying much.”

Caff glanced up at the cold pill. “I’m fine, Drix. Just… tryin to adjust.”

“And…?” Drix glanced from where they sat at the café-side table to where Jones and Thrax stood across the street, far from earshot.

“He’s fine. Had a night terror last night and almost broke my lamp, but he’s… doin good, I guess. We don’t talk much.”

“I think trying to socialize a bit more could get him to calm down.”

“Fuck him.” Caff muttered with a sigh. “I’m neck-deep in trouble, and having him around isn’t helping much. Though… goons haven’t come looking for protection cash. And people are talking.”

“Understandably. But since he’s an antibody, he can’t be prosecuted.”

“C’mon, Drix. You and I both know who calls the shots here. I was better off back at Beth. And you two? And Leah? You should’ve all stayed back at Frank. At least you people had a reason to stick together, after it was all said and done.”

Drix frowned, watching the cell absently stir his cup of iced tea.

“What?”

“I think that this could be a good thing for both of you. He learns to be something besides a ruthless killer, and you get a—”

“If you say ‘friend,’ Imma punch you.” Caff glared halfheartedly at the pill.

An exasperated sigh left Drix. “Caff, you realize having someone to talk to or spend time with could help your moods, right? Having friends can be just as healthfully beneficial as having pets.”

He pouted childishly. “It’s not like I didn’t try. I found him. Stitched him up. Tried to talk to him. Got me nowhere. What’s the point, anyways? I’ll probably be dead soon.”

Across the street, Jones and Thrax stood side-by-side, within arm’s reach. The cell’s arms were folded, while the antibody had his thumbs rested in his foremost belt-loops. For a while, they watched Drix and Caff chat with one another, but when the silence finally broke, it was Thrax who broke it.

“I can’t kill ‘im. So it’s not like you have to worry.” The antibody muttered.

Jones arched a brow. “Define ‘can’t.’”

No answer came.

Groaning quietly, he dragged his hands down his face and turned to the taller. “Look. I can’t forgive what you tried to do. But I can try to forget it. A’ight?”

Thrax raised a brow at this.

“But what I care about right now is what you’re doing in this city. I dunno what’s keeping you here, and it’s none of my business.”

“You have somethin important to say, baby? I don’t have all day.”

“Thrax… Caff doesn’t trust a lot of people. So I assume he picked you for a reason. Has he mentioned anything? Talked about anything?”

“We don’t talk.” His gaze trailed over to the cell in question.

“Of course not.” Jones rolled his eyes. “I’d think you’d at least click with someone who saved your life.”

Thrax scoffed. “I don’t click with anyone, especially not goody-goody two shoes like him.”

“Heh. Yeah. You’re right. You two don’t talk.”

The statement made him look over at the cell. Jones was baiting him, Thrax knew, but now he knew there was something in Caff’s past that he was unaware of. In the pause that ensued, he recalled the previous day, when Jones had called Caff’s phone in a panic about something.

“What was the crime-scene you were so anxious to blame on me?” Thrax questioned.

“Part of me thinks someone set it up to LOOK like you did it.” Jones sighed.

“Not surprising, but there are other possibilities. You should know that by now.”

He chose to let the comment go. “Three red blood cells. They were carpooling, crashed, and something just… tore ‘em apart. No suspects. I checked your alibi and we have you on cameras, with Caff. All day, yesterday.”

“And now, you’re worried there’s something out there worse than me."

Jones frowned darkly. “There’re a lot of things worse than you.”


	5. Down a Notch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Put this caterpillar on two legs and in a suit, and you've got Jonas Mono! XD
> 
> http://www.blogcdn.com/travel.aol.co.uk/media/2012/11/skull-face-caterpillar-australia.jpg

“This is the place. Wait out here.” Caff said as he got off the motorcycle.

“I always wait outside, baby.” Thrax gave him a mildly annoyed look. “My problem is that we’re out at the ass-end of downtown.”

“I deliver packages here all the time. Relax. Besides, this is outside gang territory.” The cell was already in motion ascending the steps of the old apartment building. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

He watched the slighter disappear inside. Already, he was mentally counting the seconds. There was something off about the location, the call, the package… Said package was light and made no sound when he shook it before Caff had snatched it from him. Part of Thrax suspected it was empty.

Content to focus on his job, Caff sighed quietly, making his way through the ground floor to the address on the parcel. He found it soon enough. Apartment 05. The cell knocked on the aged door with the back of his knuckles, and yelped as it snapped open long enough for him to be jerked inside by a pair of rough hands. His palms skidded along the splintered floor, only his gloves protecting him from a nasty scrape while the package tumbled to some far corner of the empty apartment.

When he looked up, he saw a familiar germ, and frowned as he stood. “Randy Pharyn. Shouldn’t you be at home lickin your brother’s boots?”

The green-skinned germ in question chuckled, coming forward. A smack echoed through the room as he backhanded the cell. Caff was unimpressed, rubbing his cheek.

“I’ve babysat kids who hit harder than you.”

“Can it, Caff. I ain’t in the mood.” The lieutenant growled. “You haven’t paid up for a while. What, you think that havin a bodyguard makes you special?”

“He’s not my bodyguard. He’s my roommate.”

Another slap. The sting only served to irritate Caff. The mob boss’ little brother then grabbed Caff by the cheeks. “I’m only gonna ask you once, Caff. Where’s our payment?”

Caff shoved his hand away with a dangerous leer. “I don’t need protection.”

“Oh?” Randy feigned surprise. “Well, maybe I should show you what happens when you don’t pay your insurance. Who should I kill first, eh? Your cop buddies? Or your boyfriend?”

“You got somethin to say?” Caff stepped closer, getting in his face. “You wanna threaten someone? You threaten ME.”

“Yeah? What’re you gonna do about it?” He leaned closer, their brows almost touching. “I know who you are, munchkin. And I’m not impressed.”

“Maybe because you’re too busy blowin your bro to use your head.”

Randy’s eye twitched.

\---------

It was going on three minutes. Thrax boredly – impatiently – tapped a claw against the handlebar of the motorcycle.

That was when he heard it. The familiar pop of gunfire. He was off the bike so fast it almost tipped, brisk steps carrying him down the hall of the building. His claws tore through the door like butter, shredding it in time for him to see Caff standing over a badly-beaten germ, plasma dripping off the collapsible baton in his hand.

The germ on the floor scooted backwards until his shoulders hit the wall. “N-Now Caff…! We…! We can talk about this! We—”

Caff slammed the baton down on the germ’s face. “That… was for smacking me like a little bitch.”

“C-Caff…” The figure coughed, plasma running down his chin from where his teeth had been broken off. “C’mon, m-man…!”

He kicked the germ hard in the stomach. Said germ gagged and coughed, curling in on himself.

“That, was for threatening Thrax.”

The germ turned over and tried to crawl away from the assault. It only left an opening, and Caff wasted no time landing a particularly harsh blow between the germ’s legs. The germ gave a high-pitched squeal, collapsing to the floor with a hard dry-heave.

“And this…” Caff kicked the germ to turn over.

He gazed up at Caff in stunned horror, and fear.

“Is for threatening Ozzy and Drix.”

A solid crunch echoed through the empty apartment as the cell broke one of the germ’s knees. The collapsible baton bent harshly with the blow, and the germ screamed. He grabbed the germ by the collar of his bloodied suit and slammed him into the wall with surprising force, giving him a slight shake.

“You tell your big brother that he can go fuck himself. And if you EVER threaten my friends again… I’ll do more than ruin that ugly mug of yours.”

The germ nodded, and let out a clipped cry when Caff thwacked him on the head again, knocking him out.

Thrax took stock of the room. Two bodyguards had been shot with their own guns, and a third had been beaten within an inch of his life, laying in an unconscious heap in the corner. Another had been killed by a switchblade, plasma splattered across one of the walls.

“Caff…?”

A shudder coursed through Caff’s frame. Just stood there, almost hyperventilating, hands shaking and freckled face pale. Thrax stepped closer, reaching out, when the cell whirled on him. He easily caught a thin wrist. The antibody’s eyes widened slightly when he saw a single stab-wound in the cell’s side, plasma dribbling lazily from the wound to stain Caff’s clothes.

Caff looked down at himself. “Well… shit.”

Feeling a sudden pull on his hand, Thrax reached out and snagged the slighter before he could hit the floor. Caff flailed briefly as he was suddenly thrown off-balance, the broken baton clattering to the floor, the cell growing faint and dizzy.

“Easy! Easy…” Thrax pulled the cell against him. “I’ve got you. Can you walk, baby?”

Caff gave no answer, his mind a haze and vision bleary. Disjointedly, he registered a curse, and groaned as someone picked him up. After that, he was uncertain what happened. The next thing he was aware of was the ceiling of his apartment bedroom above him. His hoody and shirt had been removed. Caff winced when he felt a needle pierce his membrane, the stab-wound being stitched and tended-to. The antibody sitting beside him was the picture of concentration, expression blank.

“Funny how this sort of thing keeps happening.” The cell mused, arms feeling like jelly where they rested to either side of his head.

“More ironic, actually.” Thrax replied dryly, finished with the stitch and using a claw to cut the thread. “Wanna tell me what happened?”

“Not really.”

“I know that sounded like a request, baby, but it wasn’t.” His eyes narrowed into a glare.

“Pharyn’s brother wanted me to pay up for protection I don’t need. Then, he threatened Ozzy and Drix. And you. So, I handled it.”

“Handled it? Is that what you call that?”

Caff looked away with a pout, until he felt a knuckle press against his freshly-stitched wound. He hissed, trying to push Thrax’s hand away, only for the antibody to grab his wrist in a bruising grip.

“You’re gonna tell me the truth, now, baby. And you’re gonna tell me what I’m actually up against.”

The cell choked on a hiccup-like sob, shaking his head. He rolled onto his side and roughly kneed the antibody in the side. While the blow was weak, it gave a satisfying thud and drew a surprised grunt from the taller. It was punctuated by a snarl of mounting irritation. A low wheeze rattled free of Caff’s throat as the taller pressed him down into the bed, bending an arm around his back so hard he felt like it would be dislocated. The muscles around the stitch were stretched taut. The combined sensations of pain had Caff lightheaded and dizzy.

Thrax pressed his talon to the underside of the cell’s jaw, smirking when Caff stilled under him with stunted pants… until an unexpected phrase left the cell’s mouth.

“Do it.” Caff muttered, voice strained and weak.

At first, Thrax was uncertain what he’d heard. He released the cell long enough to flip him over, and grabbed him by the shoulder with one hand, his talon poised over the slighter’s throat. To his surprise – shock, actually – Caff reached up with a shaking hand and pulled it closer, to the point that the very tip cut into his skin and the edge sliced his fingers.

With a heavy sigh, Thrax pulled his claw away. There was a long moment of silence before the cell sighed, and relented.

“I didn’t lie. I came to this city for a fresh start.” Caff muttered, watching the antibody grab his hand and bandage it.

“What’d you do before? Because what I walked in on was impressive.” Thrax’s voice was strangely quiet, lacking its usual jazzy bombast.

“I used to be an enforcer for someone back at Beth. Things went sideways. Really sideways. I don’t wanna talk about it. But yeah. That’s what I used to do, before I moved here.” He paused, looking over at him. “You were impressed?”

“Not many people can fight like that. And I’ve seen a lot of fights, baby.”

“Well… good to know.”

“Your suicidal attitude needs some work.”

Caff snorted. “I’m not suicidal. I’m realistic. There’s a difference.”

“Whatever you say, baby.”

\---------

“One guy… did this.” Mono questioned, dropping the photos on his desk. “Did you handle Randy Pharyn?”

The lackey he was addressing fidgeted with his fedora. “Yes, sir. He won’t be a problem anymore.”

“Any witnesses?”

“One. Some guy said he heard gunshots and saw that new antibody run in.”

Mono rested his pursed mouth against his clasped hands, elbows on his desk. “Guy wanted to leave Pharyn’s little bro alive. Didn’t use his claws. He must work for the guy. And he has something invested in Caff…”

“Boss…?”

He looked up at the lackey. “Have one of our scopes handle Caff. Send this hotshot a message.”

\---------

It felt less like guard-duty, now. Less like a chore. He knew Caff could handle himself, and now, strangely, Thrax was dealing with the idea that the cell did indeed help him… just because he wanted to. It was odd. He was used to people working angles, not doing something with no promise of reward. For the second time, things had changed, tough it was more profound than before. Honestly, neither of them wanted to think about it. So they chose not to.

“Is this really the best coffee shop?” Thrax muttered as they walked back outside.

“Best one I can afford, yeah.” Caff snickered, taking a sip. “There’s a really good place up in the cardio district. Eight bucks a cup, but yeah, it’s good. This is okay, though.”

“If you call grounds in the bottom of the cup ‘okay.’”

Chuckling, he rolled his eyes. “You take what you can get, stretch.”

“What’s the route today, baby?”

“We’re headin down to the Bowel District. My boss texted me and said he has a lot of small parcels.” Caff pulled his phone out, looking it over, and put it away again. “Busy day.”

Something glinting on top of a nearby building caught Thrax’s gaze. A shocked cry left Caff as he was suddenly grabbed and shoved down. The sharp crack of a sniper rifle echoed through the street, as well as the solid thud of a bullet hitting the mailboxes instead of him. People screamed and scattered. Caff did not get a chance to question, the antibody dragging him down the alley beside them and out of the line of fire.

“What the fuck?!” Caff shrieked.

“Calm down.” Thrax ordered, voice stern while he glanced around to get his bearings. “Can we get back to the apartment from here?”

“Yeah. There’re enough alleys to get us back there. Straight two blocks, left one block, and right one.” He supplied, glancing over his shoulder.

He wasted no time, grabbing the cell’s arm and leading him away with brisk strides. Caff had half a mind to call his boss, but was too distracted by the fact that he had come very close to actually dying – closer than usual – and without even knowing it or having a say in how he went out. It irritated him more than anything else.

“Thrax… You’re hurting my arm.”

The cell’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts and, almost on reflex, he released the cells arm, wrist and turned to look at him. Caff rubbed his wrist with a wince. They were standing behind a Chinese restaurant, but right now, the smell only nauseated Caff, his mind racing. Thrax gave him a puzzled look.

“I’m fine. I’m good.” Caff muttered.

“We need to move, baby.” Thrax reminded him.

With a nod, Caff followed him, the pair jogging down the alleyway and hoping they would be protected by the buildings.

\---------

“Did you turn the TV off?” Caff questioned as they stood in front of his apartment.

“No. Why?” Thrax questioned.

“Because I leave it on to make people think there’s someone home. And I don’t hear it.”

Warily, he pushed the cell behind him and unlocked the door. It snapped open to reveal an unwanted guest, and Caff cursed to himself when he peered past the antibody’s arm. Seated on the barstool by the counter was a familiar figure. Slim and gaunt in a tailored pinstripe suit, with a long chin and colorful markings that made his face look like a sugar skull.

“Well? Come in. Don’t stand in the doorway like you were raised in a barn.” The figure stood, straightening his lapels.

The pair strode inside, both taking stock of the two bodyguards as the door snapped closed behind them.

“Look, Mono,” Caff said in a steady voice, “I was working on getting your next payment together. You didn’t have to come over.”

Mono glared at him. “Shut it. I’m more interested in your friend, here.”

Leering at him, Thrax stood his ground as the shorter approached him. 

“You did a number on Pharyn’s boys. Impressive.”

When Caff opened his mouth to correct him, the cell fell quiet when the antibody elbowed him, disguising the motion by sliding his hand into his coat pocket.

Thrax’s glare grew colder. “I’m not interested.”

“You didn’t even hear my offer.” Mono arched a brow, glancing between the pair. “You think Pharyn’s just gonna let it go? I could use someone with your kinda skills.”

“It wasn’t my handiwork. Too sloppy for my tastes. It got the job done. But it wasn’t me.”

At the assessment, Caff gave his counterpart a half-hearted glare.

Mono smirked. “That so? Well, seein as I’m tired of waitin for this punk to pay up, maybe you could gimme a demonstration. Then, we can talk business.”

“Demonstration? Sounds like a gas, baby.”

Caff glanced down and saw the tip of Thrax’s talon glowing dully.

With no warning, Thrax lashed out. A single slice was enough to nearly decapitate the crime boss. Mono slumped to his knees, pawing at his throat before dying from sudden plasma-loss. The two bodyguards were about to draw their guns. Caff turned, ducking under one’s arm and twisting harshly. One hand grabbed the gun, making him shoot his comrade. A kick to the crotch with a twist of a wrist had disarmed the survivor, whom the cell shot without hesitation.

“Sloppy? That’s what you thought?” Caff questioned in disbelief.

Thrax rolled his eyes. “Shut up and call Jones.”

\---------


	6. A Quicky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SEX AHEAD!!! Mature readers only, please.
> 
> And you really shouldn't have sex when you have stitches. Caff, dafuq is wrong with you? 0_o'

“Great. My apartment’s a crime-scene. I’m stuck in a hotel. Enza dumped a small fortune in my bank account.” Caff ranted where he paced their hotel room.

Thrax frowned at him from his place on the sofa. “Keep it up and you’ll pace a rut in the floor. At least you’re no longer up to your neck in debt.”

He gaped, giving him a look of disbelief.

“And at least you have Jones handling the investigation.”

“You think Mono was the only guy who wants to hang me out to coagulate?! If Mono saw what…! What makes you think Vinny Pharyn doesn’t think I was the one to off his brother?!”

“You didn’t have any problem beatin the tar out of him.”

“Because he was still alive and it would he HIS fault, then!”

There was a beat of silence, followed by Caff sighing heavily and sitting beside him. He relaxed a little when he felt Thrax rest an arm around his shoulders. It gave the cell a sense of security. Something to anchor him as he got the urge to run to the next city and never look back for what must have been the second or maybe third time in his life. Without much thought, he rested his head against the antibody’s shoulder and pouted.

“Thanks. For what you did back there.” Caff muttered.

“Don’t mention it, baby.” Thrax replied.

They watched the news for a bit. The death of Jonas Mono was, of course, the top story. It was followed by the announcement that video evidence showed that Mono and two accomplices had invaded the apartment and the two unnamed tenants were in fear for their lives, and defended themselves. The final bit that made Caff almost melt into the sofa in relief was the part where it said the District Attorney had announced he would not pursue the case and regarded it as “self-defense.”

“That is the best news I’ve ever heard.” Caff murmured.

Thrax arched a brow. “I’m more curious about the ‘video evidence’ part.”

“I have a webcam hidden in the TV antenna.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

The story after that was another string of murders, this time on the northwest side, out of the Cardio District, in the west side oxygen-processing plants. Several red blood cells, though none of the victims were named. Caff frowned, a brief flicker of concern running through him before he forcefully shut it out. He felt bad, really, for calling Jones while he was in the middle of a bigger, more important investigation. But some part of him, buried in the back of his mind, was glad. He was okay. Thrax was okay. And for that, he was forced to shove aside a second wave of nagging guilt as he hunkered down closer to the antibody.

The cell paused, feeling a shiver wrack his counterpart’s form. “Cold?”

“I’ve been cold since I woke up in this town.”

“We could watch a movie. Here on the couch.” Caff removed his sneakers and put them under the coffee table next to the antibody’s boots and socks.

“What does that have to do with it?”

“Well, we could lay down… My mutation means a run a little hotter than most cells.” He shrugged, ignoring the flush that ran across his cheeks. “I’m under the impression body-heat is best.”

After a moment, the antibody laid back on the sofa. A few tense seconds passed before Caff laid down partly on him and partly against the back of the sofa. He tugged Thrax’s coat off the back of the couch and pulled it over them like a blanket, resting his head on the antibody’s chest. A little shiver ran through him when he felt one clawed hand rest on the small of his back. It was not a shiver of fear. Rather, something like a sense of thrill, which coiled in the pit of his stomach.

“How’s your side, baby?” Thrax asked, breaking the silence while he tried to find a movie on the television.

“Good. Sore. But good. It usually hurts more when I have to stitch myself.” Caff sighed, pushing his bangs out of his face. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“Everything these past few days just happened so fast. Two weeks ago, I found you in an alley. Three days ago, I owed a guy over five-thousand dollars. Two days ago, that guy wound up dead in my apartment.” 

Raising a brow, Thrax glanced down at him.

“Today, I’m laying on the couch with a guy I was pretty sure wanted to kill me, or at least hated my guts.”

A dry chuckle rattled in his throat. “If I hated you, believe me, you’d know.”

“It just feels like everything moves too fast for my mind, sometimes.”

Another pause. This one was more comfortable than the ones before it. More relaxed. Another little thrill and a shiver ran through Caff when he felt a single claw trace abstract patterns in his skin where the back of his hoody that had rode up to expose his lower back. Thrax felt the reaction, but felt no need to stop. They had one problem solved, and honestly, they both needed a break. For once, there was no animosity between them.

No stress. No tension. Just… coexistence. And it felt… Well, it felt pretty damn nice.

A little sigh left Caff as the antibody found a movie and set the remote down. Jurassic Park. A classic.

“I take it you used to run a lot hotter than you do, now?” Caff questioned, voice quiet.

“Usually around 100 or 102.” Thrax replied. “It’s been the most annoying thing since I got here.”

“Really? That’s what bothers you?”

“Among other things. What’s your excuse?”

Caff pouted. “My… mutation. I always run around 99 instead of 98.6.”

His curiosity piqued for a moment, but he chose not to ask. He did not expect Caff to spill all his secrets anymore than he would his own. When he felt another shudder, he smirked, looking down at the cell and pressing his claw just a fraction firmer against Caff’s lower back.

“Ticklish, baby?” Thrax questioned.

“N-Not usually.” Caff’s cheeks heated and he looked away, pouting when his bangs fell in front of his face again.

Before he could reach up and correct it himself, Thrax pushed his hair back with the backs of his claws, mindful not to cut the cell’s face. Most people would flinch away from the claws of any given virus or germ, or even antibodies. Caff did not so much as flinch. From what the antibody had seen, it was probably not trust. Trust was a naïve thing. This was… a mutual understanding. When Thrax slid his claws up under the cell’s beanie, Caff did not protest, even as the hat was pushed off and ended up falling to the floor. The cell did pout, looking down at it childishly, as if debating whether or not it was worth getting up to grab.

It drew a chuckle from the antibody, followed by a smirk when the cell rested his chin on Thrax’s chest, eyes narrowed at him.

“You’re ridiculous.” Thrax informed him.

“You’re the one who knocked off my hat.” Caff pointed out. “Lucky for you, I’m comfortable and don’t feel like moving.”

“Is that so?” There was a certain amount of ‘challenge accepted’ in his voice.

A surprised squeak left the cell when he felt the hand on his lower back slide down further to cop a feel. While Thrax fully expected him to move, Caff did not, refusing impudently and glaring at him while chewing his lower lip. In Caff’s mind, there were numerous mixed signals going on, and in his humble opinion, there was only a very fine line between fighting and sex. The fact he had a crush on the smug bastard was not really helping, either.

“I didn’t think you’d swing that way.” Caff taunted, testing the waters.

Thrax’s smirk was creeping towards a grin. “You think I have a preference, baby?”

“You tell me, stretch.”

Another squeak came as the cell was pulled up so their faces were almost level. There was a moment. A singular, deciding moment.

“Asshole.” Caff muttered before pressing his mouth to the taller’s.

Thrax let out a purr-like chuckle. When Caff gasped at the sensation of cool claws sliding under his shirt and up his sides, the antibody pounced on the opportunity. The cell’s fingers clenched, torn between the sensation of wandering hands and a wandering tongue. The kiss was brief, a confused sound leaving him as crooked teeth nipped along his neck. What the hell was even happening anymore?

A soft yelp left him when he felt the exploring touches graze the stitched wound on his side. Instantly, Thrax pulled his hand away, giving the cell a vaguely concerned look.

“I’m fine.” Caff huffed.

“Maybe when you’re back to 100%, baby.” Thrax offered, hands now less demanding in his touches.

“Don’t be such a pansy. Finish what you start.”

The room seemed to tilt violently, and Caff let out a stifled grunt as his back suddenly hit couch cushions. He found himself staring up into a pair of acidic green eyes that were, in turn, looking down at him with a predatory sort of glint. In that moment, Caff decided he was just fine with this not making sense.

“Be careful what you wish for.” Thrax warned before his mouth descended again to the cell’s neck, nipping and biting.

Caff brought his hand up to the antibody’s shoulders, at first uncertain what to do with them, and then slid them down across Thrax’s chest. The cell’s fingers traced over the outline of muscles beneath the t-shirt. A purr-like sound left the taller, and a firmer bite, drawing a little sigh from Caff. He would have bruises on his neck after all this was said and done. But that just made the idea more satisfying and exciting, consequences be damned.

“O-Oh…” Caff’s back arched when he felt claws drag along the flat of his stomach, under his shirt, one hand falling to loosely cover his own mouth.

“You have a kink for this, baby?” Thrax snickered, breath feeling cool against the marks he left on the column of the cell’s neck.

“I dunno… maybe?” He answered sheepishly, brows furrowing upwards, cheeks dark.

He moved his claws a little more firmly, leaving thin but briefly visible welts on the cell’s membrane. Beneath him, Caff let out a breathy sound, lower lip wet and darkened from how he had been chewing it. He could tolerate pain. This was different. A stinging feeling that heightened the sensation and only served to make him more sensitive. Enough to be whining like he was thirsty for it. 

Thrax smirked triumphantly at him, catching the back of the cell’s shirt with his talon. “How pissed would you be?”

Caff glared at him. “Don’t you dare. I don’t wanna explain to Ozzy why he needs to bring me a shirt.”

Thrax considered this a moment before the sound of tearing material broke the pause.

“You asshole!”

“Relax, baby. You still have a hoody.”

The next insult trailed off into a reluctant keen when claws dragged teasingly down his chest as if appraising him. Caff gripped the antibody’s biceps and tried to ignore the increasing tightness in his shorts. Sitting up long enough to shrug off what remained of his shirt, he grabbed the collar of Thrax’s shirt and jerked him closer, their mouths meeting hard with the soft clicking of teeth. These harsh kisses were brief, the antibody having to pull back to get his own shirt off and toss it to the floor. Thrax shoved Caff down against the sofa cushions, pulling one of the cell’s slim legs up onto his hip. Said cell let out a strained sound at the sudden ache in his stitches abrupt movement caused, but ignored it. Frustration was bubbling to the surface, but not in the way he had expected it to before all this.

“Belt open.” Thrax ordered quietly, voice a low growl. “Before I rip your shorts, too.”

Hands trembling, Caff lowered them to his belt, getting it and his shorts open. A sigh of relief left him when the antibody pulled them and his boxers off rather than ripping them, the denim material taking Caff’s socks to the floor with it. While he was busy doing that, Caff reached for the antibody’s own belt, getting his pants open and pushing them and his boxers down around his hips.

“You…” Caff huffed as the antibody began biting and sucking marks into his clavicles. “You realize we have NO lube or condoms, right?”

To this, Thrax did not deign to reply, instead picking the cell up by his hips. Caff flailed a moment, legs instinctively wrapping around the antibody’s hips as he was carried like he weighed nothing. He was set on the bed and, to Caff’s surprise, there were a couple “Safe Sex Kit” things in the cubby under the nightstand. There came a soft click when he pulled one out of the nightstand, likely adding a charge onto their stay. It was an odd thing for a hotel to have, but he wouldn’t complain since the laziness of others saved him some trouble.

Thrax was on him again in an instant, claws pinning Caff’s wrists on either side of his head. Bites peppered across his torso and the flat of his stomach, leaving dark bruises along his membrane. Mixed pain and arousal made a dangerous cocktail that pooled in his abdomen in warm coils. He did not know what was running through his partner’s head, but he did not really care. He just wanted more. Needed more. Needed to vent all the stress he had been keeping bottled up underneath the surface. As soon as his hands were released, he scraped his nails along the antibody’s shoulders and relishing the groan his partner gave.

Somewhere alone the line during the distraction, their problem had been taken care of. Caff yelped as his thighs were pulled up into the crooks of the antibody’s elbows. Normally, Caff may have complained about the lack of prep, but no matter how much he trusted Thrax – even now, he used the term loosely – he did not want anything sharp inside him.

“Last chance.” Thrax warned.

Caff smirked. “Quit stalling.”

“One of these days, that mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble, baby.”

Whatever remark he may have had was cut off by a gasp, and a soft, broken moan at the first press. It had been a long while since he had trusted someone enough to fuck them. And it stung. Caff squeezed his eyes closed, clutching at Thrax’s biceps so hard that his nails bit into skin. Distantly, he heard a curse somewhere above him, and felt the mattress dip as the antibody braced on one elbow. One of Caff’s hands slid up and dug in between a pair of shoulder-blades, the cell struggling to keep a straight face. A relieved breath that he did not know he had been holding escaped him when he felt his backside meet Thrax’s pelvis. The cell whined when claws played at the soft membrane of his thigh and hip, his cock giving a twitch at the sting.

“O-Oh fuck…” Caff muttered, eyes finally opening as he felt not bites, but kisses being laid out over his neck and upper chest.

A low, throaty groan rumbled in Thrax’s chest when he felt the cell rock against him.

“Move. Just move!”

There came a snicker, followed by a pull, and a press. It stung enough to make Caff wince, even with lube, but after the first few thrusts, it dulled into a low throb that the satisfaction of the act overshadowed. After a moment, Thrax shifted his knees a bit and rolled his hips forward with a grunt. Caff tossed his head back, a hand coming to clasp over his mouth to stifle the sound.

The antibody gave a growl of irritation, grabbing the cell’s wrists and again pinning them, now resting over him on both elbows. If they were going to do this, then Thrax decided he wanted to make his mouthy roommate scream. Caff whined, hitching his legs up on his partner’s hips, the intense pleasure coming in waves when the antibody hit that one spot made Caff’s eyes water. Pain, pleasure, overstimulation, or no, the cell’s own member bobbed and wept between their stomachs.

“You got somethin to say, baby?” Thrax huffed.

“Harder…!” Caff rasped, panting. “Thrax!”

His grip on the cell’s wrists tightened, movements speeding up. Becoming more harsh. Enough that the smack of skin-on-skin could be heard and the headboard thudded against the wall. Caff was a mess under him, and Thrax keenly watched every reaction under him, even as his dreads fell in his face and got in his way. Caff’s gaze was glassy. He was gasping harshly, each thrust driving his breath from him in strained rasps or broken cries.

Thrax felt his scar throb. Not painful, like before. This felt… different. Right. Good. It made a shudder quake through his body.

The cell gasped as he was suddenly pulled upright against his partner’s chest. One clawed hand was on his hips, moving him deep and forcefully, while the other splayed over his upper-back to support him. Caff’s own arms wrapped around the antibody’s broad shoulders, one of his hands threading into Thrax’s dreads as his mohawk fell in his face, his brow resting on Thrax’s shoulder. The angle had his cock trapped between their stomachs, the friction only overpowered by the antibody’s movements. Deep, and powerful, stretching him and moving in a way that pain and pleasure became the same concept.

Skin slick with sweat. Panting breaths. Soft cries accompanied by quiet grunts, and the smack of skin. The feeling of Caff clawing at his back only spurred Thrax on when he upped the tempo, his smaller partner struggling to keep up. It wasn’t long before the cell let out a string of garbled words, maybe a plea, or a heads-up.

Caff tensed. His back arched, face pressing into the antibody’s throat, a quiet but high keen leaving his mouth, legs clenching where they framed Thrax’s middle. Another curse and a few more thrusts followed, the cell letting out a couple little bittersweet mews as his sweet-spot was overstimulated. Then, Thrax stilled, breaths coming in rough pants.

Several seconds passed before laid the cell out on the bed, resting braced on his elbows, above him. Some silent moments passed before Thrax sat up, peering down at the slighter. Caff was trembling with pleasant aftershocks, looking dazed and tired. Then, he winced. Thrax could easily see why.

“You tore your stitches.”

Caff glanced to the living-room. “I have a sewing kit in my bag.”

“Sit tight, baby. I’ll take care of it.”

Closing his eyes, he nodded, hearing the condom hit the trash can, followed by footfalls leading away. When a warm washcloth was pressed between his legs, he spread them, not finding the willpower to complain about being cleaned up and essentially spoiled. The stitches were a quick fix, the needle sharp enough that Caff found himself dozing off. By the time Thrax finished with them, he was asleep.

Thrax smirked, draping his coat over the cell before returning to the couch and sitting down.

It had been a good fuck. Thrax honestly couldn’t recall the last time he had gotten laid. It felt nice, working off some stress. The cell certainly had no complaints and seemed to like it rough, which was a good thing given just who and what Thrax was…

Maybe being stuck with Caff wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

\---------


	7. The Back-Alley Slasher

It felt good to be home again. Small and cruddy or not, Caff had missed his apartment. Whomever cleaned up after crime scenes had already taken care of the mess, and without debt hanging over his head… he felt a lot better than he had. Thrax saw an instant change in the cell, whom had gone from resigned and apathetic to almost insufferably bubbly.

“Would you relax already?” The antibody drawled, opening the door and heading inside first.

Caff followed, arms full of grocery bags. “How can I relax? I can afford real food and free time for once.”

“And I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you’re going to insist on cooking tonight, baby.”

“Yep!” He set the bags on the counter. “Been a while since I’ve actually cooked, so… I apologize in advanced.”

“Should I order a pizza?” Thrax’s voice practically dripped sarcasm.

“Not THAT damn rusty. Sheesh.”

He seated himself on one of the barstools. “You don’t strike me as the cooking sort, baby.”

Caff felt himself go a bit warm in the face. “I like to cook. I was just so worried about paying off Mono that I never had the time.”

Thrax arched a brow at him, one hand propping his head as the other tapped a claw against the countertop.

“Look. You’ve been a great help. So stop being an ass and let me cook for you.”

“No objections here, but don’t expect me to hold my breath.”

Caff rolled his eyes with a slight shake of his head, but let it go rather than start another pointless argument.

It was a simple pasta. Cut and sauté some veggies and shrimp, make some penne, deglaze to make a simple white wine sauce… Thrax gave no commentary, watching in relative quiet while the cell worked. If there was one thing that he had learned, it was that Caff knew how to make the best with what he had, and now that he could afford a little more, well…

“So. Any big plans, baby?” Thrax questioned absently as the cell fixed a couple plates.

“Not really. Just… gonna have a normal life.” Caff told him. “Why?”

“Not like you need me to stick around.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t mind if you stuck around. Unless…” He frowned, pausing briefly when he sat across from the antibody. “No one’s making you stay. But you’re welcome to. If… y’know…”

Thrax watched him poke at his food, as if the slighter had suddenly lost his appetite. It was kind of pathetic, really, but he kept that thought to himself. Similarly, he kept his antibody issues to himself. Most people would eagerly manipulate that kind of connection, and it was clear Caff knew little about the matter since he had yet to capitalize on it.

Little was said after that. They hadn’t discussed the night at the hotel, but very few people actually “discussed” those sorts of things. The conversation died off, and to Caff’s surprise, he could still cook well enough. Thrax was eating it, so that was a good sign, he guessed.

Caff paused mid-bite when the news on the TV caught his attention.

[Three red blood cells were found dead in a parking garage this evening, apparently murdered in the same fashion as the previous victims of the killer now being called the Back-Alley Slasher.]

[Police assure us that they are working around the clock to bring this rutheless killer to justice, but many in the city are now afraid for their lives and livelyhoods.]

[The mayor released a statement today urging citizens to keep to safer, more well-lit public areas when out and about, but no official guidelines or curfew has been set. Back to you, Jim.]

“Who do you think it is?” Caff asked quietly, almost absently.

“Hm?” Thrax glanced over his shoulder at the TV.

“You and Jones talk about it every time he checks in with me. I just figured you have a theory.”

“I have a lot of theories, baby.”

“So…?”

“I’m not a police consultant. Jones figured my plan out, he can figure this one out.” Thrax shrugged. “Why?”

“Just curious.”

“Afraid?”

It was Caff’s turn to shrug, the cell giving a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat. “There’s a lot of things to be afraid of in this city. Some punk who thinks he’s hot stuff for killing unarmed innocents isn’t one of them.”

\---------

Getting calls from Ozzy was fairly normal. Caff learned the officer was diligent and, since what had happened back and Frank and here in Hector, he was almost a pest of a friend – and Caff thought that in the nicest possible way. It felt good, knowing someone was looking out for him. That, and part of him guessed the immunity cell did it as a way to cope with or vent stress from work.

“Yeah.” Caff answered his phone as he strode through the bookstore, browsing.

[Hey. It’s me. Just called to check in.] Jones’ familiar voice replied. [Everything been okay since…?]

“Yeah. Things are good. We’re getting along a lot better than we used to.” He picked up the art-book of one of his favorite games, looking through the pictures as he wedged the phone between ear and shoulder.

A heavy sigh sounded. [You know he’s just sticking with you because of that antibody-imprinting BS, right?]

“I know.” Caff frowned darkly. “Just… let me pretend, okay?”

[Where is he?]

“I loaned him some cash so he could go get some more clothes. Why?”

[Just curious.]

“Ozzy.” The leucocyte said, tone close to exasperated. “I doubt he’ll try anything. What would he get out of it?”

[Satisfaction? Revenge? Maybe he just gets off on causing mayhem.] Jones snorted.

Caff added the book to the basket he was carrying and took up a second to peruse the pages of. “He’s not THAT sadistic. Good god…”

[You’d be surprised.]

“Mm. So, how was your date with Leah?”

[Good. I was… thinking about proposing.]

“Dude, no. The second you get married is the second the relationship stops working.”

Jones paused a moment. [Really? This comin from a guy who said ‘let me pretend?’]

“Don’t quote my own shit back to me. At least I know it won’t work out.” He pouted a second time. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

[Heh. Well, I need to get back to work. I’ll text you later.]

“Sure thing, dad.”

[Ha ha ha. Not funny.]

Caff snickered, hanging up and sliding his phone back into his pocket. He purchased three books, a new sketchpad, and some art supplies before checking out and heading to the curb. Thrax had the bike and this bookstore was only a few blocks from his apartment building. A few city blocks, sure, but a walkable distance. So, Caff slid his purchase into his backpack and headed off, hands in his pockets, one having a comfortable hold on his new collapsible baton.

He tried not to think about what Jones had said. Tried, and failed. Like most people, Caff didn’t like to think about his own feelings. Didn’t sit and psychoanalyze himself. No point. But some part of him knew that Jones was right. Whatever he and Thrax had wouldn’t last. He didn’t know why it made him ill and made his chest hurt to think about that, but it did, and he doubted it would change.

Sighing to himself, Caff pushed it out of his mind. Something else quickly took its place.

It was growing late, the sun setting. Few people were in the street, but that came with living downtown. What was unusual was the fact that he could hear someone following him… and trying to mirror his footfalls. Caff halted, peering behind himself. There was no one there. No one close enough to hear, anyhow. Something was off. Something that made his membrane prickle in goosebumps and made him grit his teeth. Normally, he would brush it off, but not this time. It felt too odd for him to ignore.

He made it to the block of his apartment building. While he heard the footfalls, he pretended not to, not wanting his pursuer to catch on. His hand tightened around the baton in his pocket, the cell grinding his teeth in unease. When he reached the front steps, and the footfalls sounded close behind him, he whirled abruptly, deploying the baton beside his leg. There was… a hiss, or some similar noise, and the shadow of someone going down the alleyway nearby. Down the street coming towards him was Thrax, the purr of the motorcycle easing Caff’s nerves. He collapsed the baton, sliding it back into his hoody pocket.

Thrax lifted his sunglasses to cast the cell a puzzled look. “Someone hasslin you, baby?”

“No. Just some creep walking too close for comfort.” Caff adjusted his backpack.

While the antibody didn’t appear totally convinced, he ignored it, parking the bike and lifting the seat to grab the bags with his own purchases.

“I don’t suppose you saw who it was.”

“No. If I did, I might be more interested in finding them.”

Caff gave one more glance to the alley before making his way up to his apartment.

\---------

“Look. You don’t have to come with me just to take the trash out.” Caff sighed, glancing at his roommate.

“Maybe I need the fresh air.” Thrax drawled, leaning against the railing while Caff moved down the steps.

“The dumpsters are ten feet away. This is NOT fresh air.” He said, breath fogging on the cold nighttime air as he strode towards said dumpsters. “I’m starting to think you’re hovering.”

“If I was hovering, you’d still be up in the apartment, baby.”

With a grunt, Caff hefted the garbage bag up into the dumpster, gagging at the scent but forcing the nausea down.

“Besides. You’re the one who’s been nervous about ‘some creep.’”

Caff opened his mouth to protest, only for his gaze to dart to a dark figure near the very alleyway that Mono’s goons had tried to kill him in some weeks ago. He saw only a towering silhouette, and a pair of glossy eyes reflecting light from the lamp by the door.

In a second, less than a second, it was on him.

Tense, Thrax watched something tackle Caff against the dumpster. Metal dented and the trash bin tipped, skidding across asphault with the force.

Ears ringing, vision bleary, Caff raised his hands in front of himself. He didn’t feel the claws. But he saw them, and he saw the plasma pouring from the cuts in his arms. His attacker got one blow in before Thrax, in a blur of motion, had thrown his full weight at the assailant and slammed them into the brick wall. Dazedly, Caff scooted away, gaze whipping to the pair as they struggled. Claws vs claws. The attacker was much bigger than the antibody. The attacker was grey colored, hulking upper body mounted on a swift pair of digitigrade legs. It swiped at Thrax with a barbed tail, but Thrax was able to dodge it, the brute hitting its own arm.

Glancing about, Caff grabbed a broken beer bottle. He managed to scramble to his feet, and rushed the creature. It shrieked as broken glass dug into its back, tearing at its flesh. It wheeled around, backhanding the cell across the alley. Caff let out a grunt as his shoulders hit the back-door steps. He looked up just in time to see the creature leap upwards… and the antibody slump down the wall.

“Thrax!” He bolted up, rushing to him.

The antibody grit his teeth, clutching his side as plasma dribbled through his claws. His clothes were torn to hell and back, to say nothing of his injuries.

Caff jerked his hoody off, and with one hand, pressed it to the worst injury. His free hand dove into his pocket for his phone.

[911. What is your emergency?]

“I’m a 21 Sanford Street behind the Quincy Apartments building!” Caff panted, glancing around. “We need an ambulance! Now!”

[I’m sending one to your location now. Can you tell me what happened?]

“I-I don’t know! We were taking out the trash and this… this thing just jumped from the alley and fucking tried to kill us!”

[Where is it now?]

“No idea! I… We managed to fight it off! It just ran off! Hurry! Before it gets back!”

[Please remain calm, and stay on the line with me. Police and EMTs will be there shortly.]

\---------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, readers! Tell me your thoughts! I may or may not be running on fumes and in need of a kick to the inspiration. T-T'


	8. Schism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for angst... :(

“I told you, you panicked over nothin.” Thrax muttered, focusing his attention on Caff instead of the doctor busy examining his side. “Antibodies can’t be infected.”

“I didn’t know.” Caff folded his bandaged arms with a wince.

“Your friend’s right. Thankfully so.” The doctor glanced between them. “Well, you won’t need any stitches. Antibodies are tricky like that, sometimes. Their bodies produce extra plasma as a defense mechanism when injured by infectious agents.”

“Oh. That’s… good.”

Thrax arched a brow at him. “You alright, baby?”

“I’m fine. Just shook up. Is…” He pulled his beany off, pushing his damp hair aside as he shoved the hat into his hoody pocket. “Is there a bathroom nearby?”

The doctor nodded, not looking up from her task of bandaging with steri-strips. “By the nurses’ station, just down the hall.”

Swallowing hard, he stepped out of the small room, hand pushing the curtain closed behind him. This was the first time he had been in a hospital and been hot. Usually, they were cold. Yet, here he was, ambling down a hall… that looked too wide and too long. And shouldn’t have been tilting like that… Right...?

Thrax tensed and sat up when he heard a thud. The doctor blinked in surprise, standing and looking out into the hallway. The cell gasped and rushed into the hallway, along with a nurse whom was at the station.

“He’s burning up! Grab a stretcher and some cold-packs! Now!”

\---------

When Ozzy and Drix arrived, it was to the sight of Thrax speaking with a doctor in the ER waiting room. In truth, the antibody looked like he wanted to kill the short, weedy immunity cell, who was unfazed and looking almost imperiously up at the taller being. When he finished speaking, Thrax nodded, folding his arms and rubbing his brow.

“Thrax!”

The antibody’s gaze and head jerked abruptly towards the officer.

“What happened?” Ozzy questioned. “Where’s caff? And why were you texting me on his phone? What happened?”

“He was jumped by a septicemia bactierum while taking out the trash.” Thrax huffed, expression dark. “I was in the middle of getting stitched, he passed out in the hall.”

“Tests run by the hospital should’ve picked that up, though. Right?” Ozzy noted in an uncertain tone.

“Not necessarily.” Drix told his partner. “A case of bacterial infection or sepsis is usually too sudden to detect beforehand, or can’t be detected at all through routine tests.”

The officer groaned, dragging his hands down his face, and looked to the antibody. “Where’s Caff right now?”

“Operating room.” Thrax strode to the sitting-area and slumped into a vacant chair. “They’re trying to get him cooled down and started on emergency treatment.”

The group fell quiet as a doctor approached them, adjusting her glasses. Thrax peered at her, expecting the worst.

“Room 203, recovery ward.” She supplied with a calm tone. “He’s still unconscious, but we expect him to make a full recovery, thanks to the immune therapy and antitoxins.”

“Thanks.”

The doctor gave them a nod, departing to check on her other patience and speak with the nurses. The first few steps were spent in silence, Thrax and the two officers walking toward the elevators. Like most other rooms in the hospital, Caff’s room had a glass wall, the blinds currently open. Caff was out like a light, pale with IV in his arm and a tube down his throat, dangling from the corner of his mouth. Jones forced himself to take a deep breath, one hand on his belt and the other briefly covering his mouth.

Ozzy frowned, shaking his head. “You think he’ll pull through?”

When no answer came, the officer gazed over at the antibody.

“Thrax?”

The antibody paused for a long moment before answering in a quiet voice. “I’d say sixty-forty. Forty being he’ll live.”

“Fuck…” Jones rubbed his brow. “Alright. What does the suspect look like?”

“A foot taller than me, give or take. Fangs. Six eyes. Spiked tail. Grey skin. No clothes. It looked feral. But most septicemia are.”

Nodding, Jones walked off, drawing his phone from his pocket and quickly calling police headquarters.

Thrax had good reason for not mentioning just why Caff had fallen so ill. The cell had been so worried about stopping the bleeding from the claw marks raked down Thrax’s side that he didn’t know he was infected until he had passed out from sudden fever. He was starting to think Caff was a walking rabbit’s foot. Most cells – especially mutated ones – would’ve died mere minutes after such a powerful onset of infection.

He was still under, being given a combination of antibiotics and antitoxins through the IV, amongst the stitches in his membrane and the bandages over the cuts that were too shallow for stitches. Caff was… Pale, feverish, with a cold-pack on his brow and the thin, starched blanket resting round his hips. The hospital gown was baggy on his thin frame, hanging off one shoulder. Thrax was torn between remaining here to keep an eye on him, and hunting down and slaughtering that damn bacterium. Even so, he knew it was better the police handed it, given recent history.

What would happen… if Caff perished? Thrax now regretted not asking Enza such a thing when he visited her.

It would be one less headache, for one. He was getting in too deep for his own good. Too attached. And he knew what happened when there were too many strings, too many loose ends.

Strangely, that thought didn’t stop him from entering the room, closing the door behind him but leaving the blinds open so the staff could see them and what was going on. If something went wrong, best they know right away. Grabbing a chair, he pulled it up to the bed and seated himself, crossing his legs.

\---------

Three days. For three days, it was nearly impossible to tell whether or not the treatments were working. The doctors were on the verge of declaring Caff comatose, presumably from the damage the fever had done.

Thrax rarely left his side. Went out to eat, stretch his legs, change his clothes, and such. Besides that, however, he remained. That damned nagging feeling that he got from his scar kept him lingering close by. Or, so he told himself. He couldn’t blame that scar alone. 

With a growl, he stood and leaned with his hands on the windowsill, peering out over the parking lot.

There was a possessiveness. An aggravation. After years running solo, he had found someone that he not only tolerated, but also tolerated him. Didn’t ask questions. Could handle himself in a fight. This was someone he could picture sticking with him, if only to keep himself better occupied.

Fuck. There was no way around it.

He was attached.

A groan drew him from his thoughts. Turning, he saw Caff blearily opening his eyes, the dark orbs glazed and unfocused, but opening regardless. Thrax prowled closer, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“You with me, baby?” Thrax questioned.

“Mm-hn…” Caff murmured in reply, blinking. “You okay…?”

“You almost died and you’re worried about me?”

“Takes my mind off things that hurt…” The cell’s voice was barely audible, close to mumbling. “What happened?”

“You were almost killed by septicemia.”

“That’s what that thing was?”

“You’re lucky my hunch was wrong.”

\---------

They kept Caff for a while longer. His condition was improving, and Drix and Ozzy both hovered like worried hens when not busy working. In truth, it had gone from somewhat endearing to smothering. Thrax was kind enough to drop a few hints telling them to leave, and they did.

But, Caff could tell something was off. The antibody was… distant. More so than usual. Part of him wanted to believe it was just him brooding, but Caff got the sense it was more than that. That it was personal. Enough so that it made the cell nervous.

[Where r u?] Caff texted, only to receive no response. He shifted uncomfortably where he sat in the hospital bed.

Of course, no response came, even though he waited for ten minutes.

[They said I can go home, 2day. Can u swing by the apartment & bring me a change of clothes?]

Another ten.

[Pls?]

Ten more.

[K, I guess ur busy. No biggie. I’ll txt Oz. See u l8r.] Caff pouted as he swapped numbers. [Oz, can u bring me a change of clothes & gimme a ride home pls? <:-/ ]

Naturally, he received a reply not two minutes later. [Sure. Where’s Thrax?]

[Dunno. He left last n8. Havnt seen him.]

There came a brief pause. [Ok. Be there soon.]

[K]

\---------

“So, you have no idea where he is?” Ozzy glanced at the rear-view as he drove.

Caff shrugged where he sat in the back seat, one hand propping his head as he stared out the window at passing buildings. “Not really. I don’t really know where he goes when he goes out.”

“Then why’re you worried.”

“I dunno. He’s been acting funny since I woke up. Normally, we talk a lot. I guess he’s more chatty when he’s comfortable. But he’s barely said five words at a time to me. It’s just… Something’s not right.”

“Probably just some macho lone-wolf bullshit. I mean, you did almost die on him.”

“Where’s Drix?”

“On a date with Maria. And don’t change the subject.”

Caff rolled his eyes with a huff. “Thanks. For driving me.”

“No prob.” Ozzy shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

“Oh really? This coming from the guy who’s been on my back about it since he got here?”

“Look,” he glanced back at him over his shoulder, “antibody imprinting aside, he’s stuck around this long. Maybe its for a reason.”

“Don’t lie.” Caff’s gaze returned to the cityscape. “Not even to reassure me.”

He opened his mouth to retort, only to close it with a sigh. The subject was dropped there, because Ozzy knew Caff was right.

\---------

Enza was used to seeing a lot of people in her club. Drifters, members of the workforce… hell, even tourists. Never Caff, though. And certainly never Caff, sitting at the bar by his lonesome, absently stirring his mojito but barely drinking from it. A quick glance about the room revealed he was indeed alone, his shadow absent.

Pouting, she made her way over to him, high heels clacking on the smooth, polished floor. When she reached him, he saw her reflection in the mirror that ran along the back of the bar, behind the bartender, but he wasn’t fazed, even when she sat down on the stool beside him.

“Cuties like you don’t usually drink alone, sugar.” Enza said quietly, and waved for the bartender to prepare her usual order – whiskey, neat.

“Well, the guy I wanna drink with is AWOL, so…” Caff trailed off with a huff, watching the bartender set the drink before the club’s matron. “I don’t even LIKE alcohol.”

“Bar’s an odd place to be, then.”

“I came here hoping he was hangin around looking for information. Can you really blame me for trying?”

“No. I suppose not.”

The smooth jazz in the background did little to ease his nerves. If anything, it was annoying him even more.

Enza stared at him a moment before a knowing look crossed her features. “Oh, honey…”

“What?” Caff drawled, casting her a flat look.

“He’s breakin your heart, isn’t he.”

He stared at her, and scoffed, forcing a poorly-feigned look of surprise or disbelief. “Please. I knew he’d… I knew this would happen.”

“Sugar,” she tucked his bangs behind his ear, “I’ve been around long enough to know that’s bullshit.”

The cell shook his head.

“You can stay the night, if you like. I don’t mind.”

“Are you honestly concerned, or trying to get into my pants again?”

“Both.”

“Well, at least you’re honest.” Caff pushed his drink away and stood. “Thanks, but… no, thanks.”

“Fair enough.” Enza nodded with a pout. “You’re always welcome, if you change your mind, sugar.”

He cast her a little wave as he walked to the doors of the club. Cold nighttime air greeted him, like walking into a solid wall. His breath fogged on the chill, and he checked his phone. No new messages or missed calls. Nighttime though it was, Thrax had the bike and there were no cabs in sight. He’d have to walk.

He stuck to the lit side of the sidewalk, hands in his pockets. There were few people out and about, most of them being in cars whipping past him down the street while hurrying to their destinations.

Why did he care? It wasn’t like they knew each other very well. They didn’t. What happened at the hotel was, by all fair logic, a one-night-stand. Between roommates. Why, of all the people he had to suddenly catch feels for, did it have to be Thrax?

“It’s not fair.” Caff muttered under his breath.

A growling sound made him halt, his breath catching in his throat. He remembered that chirring, chittering rumble. Caff whipped around, breaths shuddering as he looked around for any signs of danger. It sounded again, and when he turned, he caught a glimpse of it in the corner of his eye, before it disappeared into the shadows.

He slid his hand into his pocket, grabbing his phone and hitting the speed-dial he had set for Thrax’s number. No response came, and he doubted the antibody was close by enough to help him, anyways. He backed up a step, only to feel something solid and feverishly warm behind him. Caff jolted and whirled around so fast that he fell backwards on his ass.

The bacterium snarled, ropes of spittle falling from its obsidian-colored fangs. Caff scrambled backwards, only to feel the street-lamp at his back, stopping him from getting any further. The feral bacterium loomed over him, a dark hunger in its eyes.

Whatever happened, it happened fast. There came the sound of a motorcycle and a blur that slammed into the bacterium, sending it tumbling some yards down the street. Someone jerked him to his feet and shoved him into the alley. He heard roaring and slashing, the crunch of metal and a car alarm. Dread seeping into him, Caff peered around the corner. He may as well have been watching a real-life monster fight. Thrax’s talon was glowing a vivid blue, much as the scar on his chest could be see through his shirt. Every slash left a glowing cyan mark on the bacterium, the wound sizzling and popping.

For all his skill and ferocity, he was still outmatched, the septicemia manhandling Thrax like he was a toy, throwing him into a lamppost hard enough to bend it. While dazed, he was grabbed by the throat and thrown into the wall of the building. Plasma dribbled lazily from his own wounds, even as the beast – now frothing with anger – stood over him with a clawed hand raised.

Caff glanced around, grabbing a glass bottle from the overturned trashcan beside him and chucking it. It collided with the side of the bacterium’s head hard enough to shatter it. Snarling, it turned on him, and bellowed in rage, spit flying. Lump in his throat, Caff turned and sprinted for the fire-escape. He pushed off the wall to jump up and grab the pull-down portion of the stairs. A thud echoed through the alleyway, flecks of stonework flying like splinters at the impact. Caff peeked over his shoulder to see the creature with its head caught in the stairs, wrestling and maiming the metalwork.

It bought him enough time to rush down the alley and across, up another, and back out into the street. He tried to help Thrax up, but the antibody pushed him away as he stood, and rushed to the alley. The only thing there was a ruined fire-escape, metal wrenched away from brick, trashcans overturned.

“And there goes my opportunity!” Thrax threw his hands up in frustration and turned away from the alley, standing on the sidewalk with an almost manic look.

“That thing was gonna kill you!” Caff snapped, still panting as he tried to catch his breath. “What would you suggest?!”

“I would’ve suggested you let me handle it! I don’t need your help!”

“Sure as hell looked like you did, two seconds ago!”

The pair were in each-other’s faces now, or more precisely, Thrax was in Caff’s and the cell refused to back down. Thrax grabbed the slighter by the shoulders and shoved him against the wall of the alley, his frame tense and eyes bearing a fire in them Caff had not seen before. One hand grabbed the cell by the jaw, the other hovering his talon right over the cell’s brow. Caff released a breathy gasp, eyes wide as he stared up at the antibody. He was not daring Thrax to end him. Not taunting or goading him. He just stood there, in shock, little beads of moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes.

Thrax sneered, squeezing the slighter’s face before shoving his head to look away. “You’re on your own.”

Caff was released, and his gaze snapped up in time to watch the antibody’s retreating form. Several seconds ticked by. His chest felt tight, making it hard to breath as he slid down the wall to sit on the ground.

\---------


	9. Too Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brought to you by the song "Too Close" by Alex Clare! :D

Rarely did Caff venture this far into the Cardio District, but now… it just felt like he needed to. Standing on the steps outside the building, Caff pressed the penthouse button down with his thumb. It took a few seconds for a voice to come over the speaker. Not that of the penthouse’s owner, but of the guards whom lived on the lower floor of it.

[Get lost. Miss Enza don’t have no appointments, today.]

“It’s Caff.”

There came a pause, though brief. [She says to come on up. But we’re watching you.]

Tying a robe around herself, Enza strode down from her bedroom to the spacious living area of her home. She was just in time to see Caff walking in. He was a mess. Not in the usual charming fashion, but… with dark circles under his eyes, and pale features.

“I… I was thinking about what you said.” Caff told her, voice rough. “Can I stay with you, for a couple days?”

“Of course. C’mere. Sit down.” She rested her hand son his shoulders and guided him to the living room, coaxing him down on the couch. “You look awful, sugar. What happened?”

“He left. About a week ago by now. I just… haven’t been feeling good. And the second round of antibiotics from the hospital don’t seem to help…” He trailed off, raising his arm to cough raggedly into the crook of his elbow.

Her expression grew heavy with concern, the woman resting a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m fine…” He rasped.

“You just sit tight. I’ll send one of my boys to go get a bag from your apartment. And I’ll make you some tea.” She brushed his hair out of his face. “Iced tea, then. And take your hoody off.”

“But I’m cold.”

“You have a fever, Caff. Iced tea, and remove the hoody.”

He pouted, but did so, shivering when he pulled his sweatshirt off.

Stepping into the kitchen, Enza phoned her main squeeze, listening to the white blood-cell’s silky baritone. [Yeah, bae?]

“Sykes, I need you to run by Caff’s place and pack an overnight bag for a week’s stay or so. And if you see his roommate there or along the way, call me and let me speak with him.”

[On it.]

She set her phone aside, making a pot of tea, sweetening a glass and adding plenty of ice to it. No sooner than she finished with the task did her phone ring. Enza answered with a steely silence, trying to contain her mounting irritation.

[Your man said you wanted to talk to me.] From Thrax’s tone, he knew what this conversation would be about, or had a hunch.

“You’re going to come to my penthouse and sort matters out with Caff.”

[Pass.]

Growling, she glanced to make sure Caff wasn’t listening before dropping her tone into a hiss. “I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. Now man the fuck up with your feelings and get your ass over here.”

[There’s nothing to discuss, and it’s not gonna happen, baby.]

“Would you rather I send you a picture of his corpse?”

There came a silence on the other end.

“Let me mention something I may have left out, before, because I figured you were smarter than current evidence suggests: Antibody imprinting isn’t a one-way street when it’s between only two people.” 

[You—]

“And if Caff dies because of you, there won’t be a hole deep enough for you to hide in. Not even in hell.”

Before he could retort or argue, she hung up on him and tossed her phone onto the counter, grabbing the glass of tea and bringing it to the cell. Caff had removed his shoes and socks, sitting curled against the arm of the sofa, shivering despite how hot he felt to the touch. He thanked her quietly, managing to choke some of it down before it hurt his throat too badly. The second it hit his stomach, he felt sick.

“I’m just… Do you care if I go lay down?” Caff forced himself to sit up.

“Go right ahead. The guest room is just back there.” She pointed behind him.

Nodding, he stood, nearly losing his balance until he braced on the arm of the sofa. He managed to shuffle his way into the guest bedroom, closing the door behind himself. He all but collapsed onto the bed, coughing into his palm. Everything hurt. His head, his chest, his limbs. Just breathing was uncomfortable, chest crackling. He curled up among the pillows on the oversized bed, resisting the urge to throw up over the side. He just needed some sleep…

\---------

“Good. You decided to show up.” Enza drawled, not bothering to look up from the magazine she sat reading, though she pointed. “He’s in the guest bedroom.”

“I think you have some explaining to do, baby.” Thrax moved closer with near perfect silence. The silence of a predator.

She glared up at him, her fingers shifting into claws that could rival his own. “You didn’t bother thinking about what would happen after a quick roll in the hay, did you. – And don’t look at me like that. I’m not an idiot, and I know Caff knows to use protection. So…”

He watched her set her magazine aside and stand, her gaze fierce.

“Did it get heated? Enough for those fancy talons of yours to break membrane?”

Thrax narrowed his eyes at her, holding his ground.

“I’ll take that as a yes. And that means you two are now in the same boat. I know you’ve been following him. Using him as bait. But he thinks you LEFT, and it’s taking its toll.”

His gaze trailed to the corridor down to the guest room.

“I checked on him a few minutes ago. Unresponsive. One foot in the grave.”

The taller antibody’s attention snapped back to her, his expression a vague mix of shock and worry.

“I don’t care whether or not you have the balls to deal with FEELINGS. Whether to try and help, or pay final ‘respects,’” Enza sat back down on the sofa. “I suggest you go do something about it.”

Thrax stared at her for another beat before making his way to the guest bedroom of her penthouse, stepping inside and closing the door. What he saw… It wasn’t what he expected.

Honestly, Caff may have looked asleep, if he weren’t so pale. He was curled on his side, facing the door. His breaths were so shallow that they could barely be seen, each inhale making a soft squeak. Membrane damp with sweat, his clothes were sticking to him. The hem of his shorts had rode down, a soft blue glow coming from the hair-thin scars on either hip, and a very faint – almost dead – glimmer from within his chest.

Caff hated unconsciousness. That faint awareness that lingered, that actual sleep lacked. He had heard voices, and a door. He felt cold. Freezing. Frostbitten. But right now, he was too tired to pull the blankets over himself.

Someone said something nearby, but he couldn’t make out the words. A weak tremble ran through his body when a lukewarm hand pushed his bangs from his face. Rustling cloth. A dip in the mattress. He let out a soft moan, pain skittering through his limbs as he was moved, pulled into an awkward position. Something hard and warm rested in front of him, one of his arms pinned between him and it while the other arm lay… on top of someone else’s?

He tried to talk. Tried to question. All that came out was a raspy cough, pain shooting through his throat like liquid fire. A hand cradled the back of his head, another resting on his lower back. Everything hurt. Worse than when he was in the hospital after being infected. Like he was broken, or being ripped apart.

They were talking to him. Or at him. Words made no sense, hazy and muddled. His chest was burning…

Thrax trailed off mid-sentence when he felt the cell stop breathing.

“Caff?” He cupped the cell’s face in one hand. “Caff!”

No response came, not even a murmur. Thrax’s talons flared blue as he dug them into the small of Caff’s back. Sticky blue trails mingled with the plasma that dribbled from the wounds. It got a response, though. The cell choked on a ragged gasp, breath rattling in his chest as he wheezed, parts of cramped-up membrane popping noisily as they stretched out.

“Don’t you dare…” The antibody growled.

Pain skittered through Caff’s throat as a cough shook him, rattling his chest.

“Don’t you dare.”

\---------  
Caff’s fever started going down in increments. He went from nearly comatose to delirious, but nearly twelve hours later, he started to come out of it. When he was fully lucid, he woke to feel the antibody spooning him, as if the week apart hadn’t happened. He ached all over, his lower back stinging.

Hand shaking, he pushed Thrax’s arm off him and sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. The movement, of course, woke the antibody, whom leaned up on his elbow. When a clawed hand reached out to rest on his hip, Caff grabbed it and pushed the index talon back painfully, ready to break it if need be. A silent warning.

“Don’t fuckin touch me.” Caff muttered bitterly.

Rather than snap or sass, he merely closed his hand around the cell’s. Caff tried to shake it off, but failed, tired and weak. He made a disgusted noise in his throat, his hand now firmly held captive while he held the index finger hostage.

“Fuck you.”

“Like it or not, baby… Enza says we’re stuck together. Considering what happened, I believe it.”

“Nice to know you love yourself too much to just abandon me to prolonged infection.”

Thrax frowned. “What happened wasn’t because of the infection.”

There was a moment of silence before Caff looked over at him. The antibody merely tugged down the hem of the cell’s shorts to expose the scars.

“And since I can assume you knew those were there—”

“Shut up.”

“—then I can also assume you knew what would happen if we split.”

"Shut up!" Caff jerked his hand free, wincing as he cut himself on the taller’s claw. “Like you even give a shit!”

The cell tried to get up and walk off, only for a hand to grab the back of his shirt and yank him back towards the bed. Growling, he twisted and let his shirt get pulled off, exposing what scars had been left on his torso since they had met.

“I’ve saved your life three fucking times!” His voice cracked as it rose in volume, near a shout. “And what do you do?! You leave me to fucking die of your imprinting bullshit! You even got ready to kill me!”

Thrax stood, slowly inching towards him. “Now, baby—”

“I may as well walk in front of a car at this point! It’d be faster!” Caff’s eyes stung, but he barely registered it as moister gathered in the corners. “I should’ve left you in the goddamn alley! I was safer on my own!”

The cell yelped as he was grabbed and pushed onto the bed, flat on his back. Thrax loomed over him, lightly pinning the slighter’s wrists to either side of his head, one knee between the cell’s legs. Caff shuddered, a fluttering sensation rippling through his chest. His eyes widened when the feeling was accompanied by the antibody’s scar glowing slightly brighter.

“I trusted you…” Caff’s gaze fell, tears spilling.

“I know.” It was the most innocuous way he could respond. The least hurtful. “I’ll try to keep that in mind, next time.”

He leered up halfheartedly at the antibody. “What makes you think there’s a next time?”

“We don’t have much choice, do we?”

Caff pouted at this assessment, but nodded.

Thrax moved off him, letting him up and sitting beside him, handing him his shirt. 

"Assbag." The cell muttered, pulling his t-shirt back on. “I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.”

\---------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More inspiration needed. Feedback is appreciated! 0w0


End file.
